In Sickness And In Death
by Keridwen89
Summary: When a train derails outside Boston, Garret and the team must pull together and identify the charred remains of the many victims, but they never expected that one of their own could be among the dead.
1. You're Getting There

**A/N: I was going to wait a little while - but then I thought 'stuff it' so here's the next one. Marginally shorter chapters this time!

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**In Sickness And In Death**

**Chapter 1: You're Getting There**

It was Friday, which _should _have said it all, but in this case there was much more to Garret Macy's Friday morning than the usual lethargy and extreme desire to get home and relax even before he had reached his place or work. He glanced at his watch, which was on his wrist, which was, incidentally, connected to the hand that was now gripping the steering wheel loosely and directing it towards the scene of the latest bout of death and catastrophe he had been summoned to. A quarter past seven. He sighed. Work sucked, sometimes.

But this was not his average call out. It had been a frantic voice on his cell phone earlier, a frantic voice telling him about a train wreck with possibly fifty plus people dead. The details weren't clear, because they simply didn't have the information. That was up to him.

He had dialled the numbers of his team, and they had expressed their distaste at the situation before hanging up and assuring them they'd be here. Which was why he was mildly surprised when one didn't show up.

"Jordan here yet?" he asked Bug who had come to meet him, as he was climbing out of his car.

"Not yet," he said. "She'll be here soon, though, probably banked up behind the morning traffic. Peak hour, you know."

"Yes, I do," he said, surveying the smouldering wreck in front of him. The field was alive with activity, rescue teams were attempting to save as many lives as they possibly could, the fire brigade was putting out the flames that had engulfed two out of the many carriages.

"What's the situation?" he asked, grabbing hold of his 'bag of tricks' and heaving it out of his car, closing the door behind him and following the doctor.

"Train wreck," he said.

"I can see that," Garret replied sardonically. "Specifics, please?"

"Ten carriages, two derailed. They don't think any are alive from the two that caught alight."

"Do they know what caused it?"

"Possibly foul play," Bug said grimly. "Which is the reason for this…" He waved his hand at the myriad of FBI agents and the two detectives from the Boston PD, two they knew quite well.

"Morning Doc," Woody said. "What a lovely morning for a train ride."

His companion, Detective Lois Carver rolled her eyes knowingly at Garret, who smiled, and turned back to Bug.

"How many in each carriage?"

"Up to 25 in each," he said.

"Great," he said. Bug nodded grimly. "It's going to be a hell of a long day."

"Who else is here?"

"Sidney got here shortly after me, Nigel's yet to come."

"We'll have no one left at the morgue, once the bodies start coming in."

"Want me to give Jordan a call?"

"No, I want her here. You go, when the time comes."

Bug nodded. "Guess we better get to it then, huh?"

"You and Nigel erect the tent when he gets here, send Sidney to me," he ordered, and Bug nodded again, walking off to do his bidding.

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Jordan yawned widely and threw the pills into her mouth, washing them down with a gulp of water from a glass that was sitting on her coffee table – probably from the night before. She couldn't remember, hence her dilemma. She wasn't supposed to be working today, it was her day off, but duty called and she had been summoned by Garret to a train wreck just outside Boston. The night before, under the illusion that she could sleep in the next morning, she had stayed up late and drank a little too much, which was basically out of character for her, but it had been a long day and she wanted to have a degree of numbness, which was now eluding her,

Her head was splitting, punishment for her binge the night before, but she ignored it as she climbed into her car and turned on the ignition. Her blood ran cold, however, when there was an unexpected movement in the back and she suddenly felt cold steel against her head.

"Good morning," she said in a low voice, meeting the eyes of the man in the back seat.

"Drive," he said.

She put her foot down on the pedal. "I would have done that without the…aid of a gun. See, I drive practically every day. Its not an enormous stretch."

"Shut your smart mouth," he said quite calmly, as if chiding a child.

"Any particular destination?" she asked, equally as sedately.

"Just turn when I tell you to."

"Is it alright if I swerve if we're about to run headlong into another car?" she asked. "Or is that the point?"

"I told you to shut up. Little girls should be seen and not heard."

"And little boys should was their hands before dinner. Never going to happen."

Surprisingly, he laughed. She had, up until then, no fear, she would get out of this, she always did. But then he had laughed and she realised she was dealing with someone who was at least mildly intelligent, which was disconcerting on its own, but coupled with the fact that she thought she recognised this man, it was more than mildly so. Not being able to place the face, she let it go.

"So," she said. "Any particular reason for this? Robbery? Because I assure you, you wont get much joy here. Talk to my boss, he's the one who won't give me a rise."

"I will," he said, delighting in the fact the she narrowed her eyes – he had unbalanced her.

"Not robbery then," she deduced, and he nodded. "Um…boredom?"

"While boredom is quite a strong motive for kidnapping and murder, sadly it is not the reason today."

"I see," she said, taking in a deep breath at the mention of murder. "You're some kind of weird stalker? Live in my apartment block, maybe? See me hang out my washing, stare through my windows with binoculars?"

"Nope, not today. You're getting there, though. Keep trying."

"Okay," she said, staring ahead, willing someone to see that she had a gun to her head, but no one was looking. She made a mental note to take very detailed notice of drivers and their passengers in the future.

"Oh come on, Doctor. You know better than most the motives for killing people."

"And I, better than most, hate guessing games," she snapped, then calmed down as the barrel was pressed harder into her head, but she pressed her lips shut.

"Left," the man growled and she turned sharply, hoping to unbalance the man but the attempt was futile from the start.

"Nice try," he drawled.

"Revenge," she said. It made complete sense, he knew her, or enough of her to know she was a doctor, it even explained why she found him familiar – vengeance suggested she knew him, at least in passing. Maybe a grieving husband or a bereaved father, she didn't know, didn't even particularly care. She was going through, in her mind, all the means of escape she could possibly initiate. None were looking too good, as all involved pretty certain accidental or otherwise death.

"Bingo," he said quietly watching the road.

"Well there's not much point in revenge if the person you're getting revenge against doesn't remember what they did in the first place."

"Its okay, I fully intend to completely fill you in," he said. "I'm sure you'll recall once I give you the details."

"I'm sure I will," she said.

"It's a pity we met under these circumstances," he said. "I think I would have liked you."

"Such a shame," she agreed scathingly.

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"How many so far?" Garret shouted over the drone of a chainsaw a few meters away, trying to extricate living victims from the carriages that hadn't been totally annihilated. Garret had assessed the situation, as was his was, and had found out that out of the ten carriages, five had escaped unscathed, three were in a pretty critical, though not fatal state, and the two he had been assigned to were completely ruined. They had had to wait for the fire itself to be put out, then for the place to cool down before they could go in, but the rescue teams had given them the go ahead, according to them the place was stable enough for the moment, so there weren't too many hitches. He spotted Nigel fending off a television crew and grimaced. Vultures came to mind, spotting the rotting flesh, deciding it was juicy and circling above until they could drop and feast. They were only doing their jobs, as he was, but it didn't stop him being more than a little irritated.

"We've got eighteen," Bug shouted back. "Its lucky the fire was put out in time, only a few right at the front are completely burnt to a crisp."

"Lucky," Garret agreed grimly, and went back to searching. Their instructions were to find as many whole people as possible, as many people as they could without moving anything. Most of the people, however, were trapped under seats, wall and rubble, so their initial job was almost done.

"Over here!" Bug shouted, and bobbed down next to the body. Garret waved Nigel, who was coming towards them anyway, over.

"Over there." He stuck his thumb in Bug's direction and went back to sifting through the smaller, lighter bits of rubble, watching out of the corner of his eye as Bug and Nigel lifted the body onto a stretcher and carried it into the tent which was only few metres away, before emerging and resuming their search.

Sidney was the next to call out.

"Dr. Macy!"

Garret looked and waded through the debris towards the ME, and they went through the process together. When they had navigated themselves and the deceased in their care out of the smoking wreck, taken the body into the tent and wrapped it up, Garret pulled his phone out.

"No sign of Jordan?" he asked Sidney, while dialling a number.

"Nope, nothing. Want me to ring her?"

"No, I've got it, go back and help the others."

"Right," he nodded and walked out of view.

"Hey Emmy, is Lily in? Ok." He waited, tapping his foot.

"Lily!"

"Hey, Garret, I heard about the train wreck, everything okay?"

"Yes. People are going to be coming in soon, you know the drill."

"Yes," she sighed heavily. "Are you sending someone back with the first of the bodies?"

"We're a little understaffed," he said. "Can you send a couple of the interns?"

"Consider them there," she said. "You sound strained."

"Yeah, a little," he said. "Hey, is Jordan there?"

"No...I thought she was with you?"

"No. Can you try and call her please? Tell her to get her ass down here fast or I'll fire it."

"Yeah, sure."

He bade her goodbye and hung up.

"Hey, Dr. Macy."

He turned to address the detective.

"Woody. Found anything out?"

"Oh yeah. The feds are being their usual charming, munificent selves. We know everything." He motioned over to where Detective Carver was talking animatedly with one of the agents, who was obviously doing his best to skive her off. Garret made a sound in his throat, he could only imagine what a wonderful time the detectives were having trying to get information.

"Anyway, who'd rely on the FBI? If we want information, we'll get it ourselves."

"That's the spirit," Garret said grimly before turning and heading back to the train.


	2. Loopholes

**A/N: Orlando-crazy, Jinubean and KittyDoggyLover - thanks tonnes! NadezhdaSt - you'll have to wait and see, lol. Hopefully that whole storyline thingy will be clear in the next two or so chapters. LMAO my muse. **

**(Are these chapter lengths good?)**

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**Chapter 2: Loopholes.**

"Well this is cosy," Jordan commented, staring around the small room. There were two reclining armchairs, facing each other, separated only by a small coffee table, on which was a cell phone, a small radio and a pizza menu. She raised her eyes at him and he shrugged.

"Everything we need," he said, and closed the door behind them. "Take a seat, my dear."

The first real wave of fear washed over her, leaving her shaky and in no state to protest. She sat on a chair, edgy, staring at him, wondering what he would do next. He grinned at her, as if reading her thoughts, and sunk down into the other chair. He leaned forward and turned on the radio. The voice of a reporter filled the room.

"_Chaos strikes Boston – this morning a train derailed just outside our fair city, leaving fifty people most certainly dead, about forty ore presumed so. Hundreds were injured. Foul play? The FBI, ATF and the Boston PD representatives milling around seem to suggest so, even though they are remaining tight-lipped about the whole thing. No information has been released as of yet…"_

The man reached forward and switched off the radio, grinning across the table at her. The light filtered in between the heavy drapes on the window.

"We're going to be here a while," he said. "So we may as well get to know each other. My name is Jeremy Ayres."

"What's the point of that if you're going to murder me?" she asked matter-of-factly.

He sighed. "Number one, its no different to meeting someone in the street who _isn't _going to murder you. We're all dead someday anyway, its just a different means to the same end. Number two, I would have thought you of all people would appreciate a good loophole. I said kidnapping and murder in the car, but I did not specify who it was I was going to murder."

"Well seeing as you and I are the only ones here, it doesn't leave you much choice. Nowadays we call self-murder suicide." He merely looked at her and she sighed, sinking back into the chair. "Fine, I'll bite. Who are you going to murder?"

"The next person to walk through that door."

"I see. And who would that be?"

"Why I don't know, yet," he said. "I guess we'll just have a wait and see."

"So are you going to tell me what I did to…invoke this?"

Ayres chuckled. "It wasn't just you. Macy and Hoyt were involved as well."

Jordan was frantically trying to place the name and the face, but she couldn't.

"Cast your mind back, Dr. Cavanaugh," he encouraged. "Double homicide, late 2001…"

Suddenly it slammed into place. The murder of a young woman and her four year old daughter four years ago –_ Ayres. _The husband, the very same Jeremy Ayres who was sitting in front of her, had been convicted and sentenced to thirty-five years in prison , only to have been proclaimed clinically insane by a shrink after multiple suicide attempts, night-terrors, hallucinations and dark moods where he would go two weeks without sleep. Not even a wink. He had been sent to the state psychiatric correctional hospital – where security was far laxer than that of the maximum-security prison he had been originally sent to. _How had the bastard escaped? _

Ayres laughed as he read the recognition in her eyes. "Remember me now?" he asked. "Good. I certainly never forgot you."

"We were doing our jobs you sick demented prick," she said, recalling the way in which the wife had died – stabbed multiple times, though not enough to kill her, and had torn strips of skin off her legs and arms before slitting her throat. Apparently he had decided to be more humane with his daughter, a single stab wound to the heart had killed her.

"No!" he said, voice raised. "You did not do your jobs!"

"Oh? You going to tell me you didn't kill them?"

"I killed her," he said. "I killed my wife."

"Then why all this?"

He met her eyes then and she stared at him, challenging him.

"Because I didn't kill my daughter," he said. "She did."

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"Has Lily called back?" Bug asked over the top of yet another stretcher, bearing yet another charred-beyond-recognition body.

"No. The interns will be here soon, though…"

"Speak of the devils," Bug said, nodding over his companions shoulder. The Chief ME turned and spotted six or seven people climbing out of their respective vehicles, wearing bright yellow 'ME's' jackets and looking around in horror. Garret called out to Sidney, who looked up from the stretcher he and Nigel had been bearing after them.

"Your charges," he said, jerking his head towards the interns. Sidney looked at them, sighed and nodded.

"That should speed up the process," Bug commented.

When the two ME's had placed the body in the tent along with the others, they straightened up and surveyed the damage.

"Alright," Garret said in his best authoritative voice. "I'll get about ten or so of these off to the morgue. You go, and if you hear from or see Jordan, kill her, then send her to me so I can too."

Bug grinned wanly and nodded. Garret's phone rang and he plucked it expertly out of his pocket.

"Lily. What's up?"

"I rang Jordan's cell and her home phone. Not a word."

"Okay," Garret said, anger mounting at the only absent ME.

"Look, I called up a few surrounding morgues and hospitals who have them. I've offloaded twenty-five, and counting."

"You are an angel," Garret said, sighing in relief. "How are you holding up?"

"I've only had one or two people show," she said, and sounded surprised at the fact. "A couple of calls, they've left their details. Not much anyone can do 'till we've…"

"Identified them. Okay, I'll try and speed things up here. Expect Bug and the first truckload of bodies."

"Can you really spare him?"

"No, not really. Damn Jordan, why did she have to pick today to run to the circus?"

"Maybe something's wrong?"

"I don't give a damn. Either she's dead or she's here," he growled, bid his leave and hung up. It was then that he spotted Woody making a beeline for him, grim faced and agitated.

"The drivers were shot," he said.

"What…shot?" Garret replied. "What happened?"

"We're not sure," he said. "The story goes – some guy in the closest cabin to the drivers gets up. Witnesses say he kept looking at his watch. I don't know why the feds kept stressing that, I think they're thinking terrorist."

"No, really?" Garret said sarcastically. Woody ignored him and continued.

"We have no idea how the guy got past whatever security they have. Shot one driver, commanded the other to pick up the pace. Speed was phenomenal, apparently. We still haven't determined how fast the thing was going. The federal CSU is taking care of that. When the carriages derail, the other driver was shot and our boy jumped ship."

Garret frowned.

"Like he knew they would derail?"

"Its not clear. But I suggest you go butt in on the Feds' party if you want a slice of the bodies."

"How thoughtful of you," Garret said. "But I think I have quite enough bodies to keep me occupied for now. It's not out job to figure out why this time. Just clean up after a killer."

Woody frowned. "Well have fun. If there's anything I can do, I'll be over there somewhere." He waved a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

"Actually you can help. Go be Nigel's body partner."

"Body partner…?" Woody asked, worried, but Garret had already walked away.

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"And you wondered why we didn't believe you the first time around?" Jordan asked, after he had told his story. "You came home from work, your daughter dead, your wife crying and standing over her with a kitchen knife. You snapped and brutally murdered her."

"I wanted her to feel pain," he said, quietly. "And she did. The bitch screamed and screamed. Begged for mercy. But it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. I wanted her to suffer more, for what she did to me, what she did to our daughter.

"How do you know she…"

"She was sick! Crazy! Had been depressed for months."

"And I bet you, big man, just ignored her," Jordan spat. "Depression's weak, isn't it Jeremy? Mental illness is a pansy's disease."

He stared at her. "I did everything I could for her."

"Yeah? Well apparently not enough. Why the hell should I believe you?"

"I don't care if you believe me or not, to be honest. I'm here to do a job, and it will be done."

"A job?"

"To make you and your buddies suffer."

"Oh? How?"

He grinned, and Jordan saw that he was completely sane, which was the scary thing.

"The only thing worse than death itself," he started. His tone was low, reverent, as if he greatly respected pain, or whatever the hell he had planned. "Is for those closest to you to die. And guess what? You aren't my main target."


	3. Good Reason

**A/N: Thanksto Jinubean, Orlando-crazy and jtbwriterfor reviewing chapter two! Jinubean - you hit the nail right on the head, a game is exactly what this is to Ayres. A bitof a sick game, but a game nonetheless. One he is confident of winning, whatever the outcome. Okay - for all of you who were wondering about the summary, its all cleared up in here. (Tell me if these are too dialogue-y I haven't been putting long winding intrpspective paragraphs in it, but next chapter may have some! I aim to please!lol)**

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**Chapter 3: Good Reason**

"No glitches yet, Dr. M," Bug reported over the phone connection. "Five identified. I could do with some help, though."

"I'll send Nigel then," Garret said reluctantly. "Although…"

"You can't spare anyone, I know."

"No, its okay, it doesn't matter. Jordan is so fired, though."

Bug laughed. "Yeah. You keep telling yourself that. Well I better get back to it," he said, and they hung up.

"Got any more for me?" Lily asked, pushing the door open. She had just forwarded on a list of the identified decedents to the BPD so they could notify the families.

"Just one," Bug said and rattled off the name of the woman he was working on. "I'm working under the philosophy 'identify now, autopsy later'."

"Good call."

"Macy's sending Nigel up. No sign of Jordan."

"Where could she be?"

"I have no idea."

"I'm worried – what if she's deathly ill in her apartment?"

"And couldn't pick up a phone?" Bug asked. "Anyway, since when is Jordan sick?"

"I don't mean having a cold sick. Maybe I should go check it out. Can you spare me?"

"For ten minutes, sure. To tell the truth I'm concerned too, it's not like her just to not show up."

"I know," she said, and turned to walk out. "I'll be as quick as I can."

She was quick. When she returned she recounted to Bug how she had banged on the door until she was sure that bruises would begin to show, called out her name and banged some more, but no one was there.

"I can't shake the feeling that she might be in there. I can almost see her lying on the ground trying to call out…" she shuddered. "But that's probably just my overactive imagination."

"Probably," said Bug distractedly. The run on the dental records he had just entered into the computer was just about to come back.

"Hey Bug, your saviour has arrived!" a voice called from the door. Bug looked up at Nigel, who was grinning and staring around.

"Forgive me for not leaping for joy, back problems you know," Bug said. "You can start over there."

Nigel's face did a mock 'fall', for Lily's benefit, and he grumbled something incoherent before making for the charred body Bug had pointed to."

"This the last of them?" he asked, as Lily walked out.

"You wish," Bug scoffed. "This is just the first lot. Dr. Macy's sending another lot."

"Oh joy," Nigel said.

They both heard the computer beep, but Nigel ignored it. Bug called Lily.

"More ID's for me?" she asked, pen in hand.

"Yep." He squinted at the screen. "Joseph Barron, 37. Amanda Jones, 25. Jo-"

He stopped abruptly and went completely white.

"What?" Lily said immediately, worried. "What is it?"

Nigel's head had lifted and he was watching from over the mould he was making.

"Oh God," Bug said, backing away from the computer. His hands were shaking as he pulled the phone out of his pockets, hampering his dialling ability. It was as if he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. He left abruptly, and Lily quickly navigated her way to read from the screen. Nigel was frowning and stood to join her. "What? What the hell…oh Jesus."

Lily turned her tear-filled eyes to Nigel, asking him tell her it was a mistake, it had to be a mistake. But his pinched and paler than normal face spoke for itself.

"Oh my god," he whispered, and they both stood, roots to the spot, staring at the name on the screen.

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"Well I guess that's good to hear," she said slowly, trying to assess the situation.

"Hey don't get too cocky, I'm not saying you wont suffer. You know what I want them to feel?"

"What's that?"

"Grief. Absolute, unending, heart rending grief. Death won't do that."

"So kill me," she said, severely pissed off at this point.

"Oh don't worry," he said. "I already have."

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Bug, even in his shock and disbelief was smart enough not to tell Macy the reason for his frantic call. No doubt the ME would speed and likely get himself killed.

"We need you here. Now," was all he said.

His throat had then closed up, he added another urgent 'now', before hanging up. Garret was intuitive to realise when his employees were not fooling around, and new it had to be something damn big for Bug to demand his presence. He left Sidney in charge of the operation, maybe a little risky he knew, but he reasoned he would be back. He drove carefully, unconsciously not wanting to add to the days fatality rate. As he stepped out of the elevator, Bug met him, pale as anything, wringing his hands and hopping from one foot to the other in his agitation.

"This better be good," Garret growled, partly nervous, Bug would not be this agitated without good reason.

"You better come see for yourself," he said, voice trembling. Garret followed the man into the room they'd set up to identify the bodies from the train wreck. Nigel was furiously searching through the moulds Bug had made, Lily watching on, eyes red rimmed. It was at that point that Garret felt real fear, and as soon as Lily met his eyes, he knew something was terribly wrong. He slowly, lethargically made his way to the computer that Bug had wearily pointed too, and stared at the name on the screen.

"No way," he said immediately. "There must be some mistake."

"Exactly," Nigel said, still searching. "It can't be, we just got our records mixed up somehow, you made some sort of mistake."

"I didn't make a mistake," Bug said in a low voice.

"You must have!" Garret roared, making Lily rear back in shock, Bug bow his head and Nigel stop his frantic search. "She can't be dead!"

For it was indeed the name of their friend and colleague that was now flashing on the screen, the only person who hadn't shown up, the one person who should have.

"Jordan can not be dead," he said forcefully, and whisked out of the room, leaving Bug. Nigel and Lily staring sadly after him.

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"I do have a dilemma, however," he told her. "I don't know whether to wait until after your funeral to tell them you're still alive."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Ayres laughed. "You haven't worked it out yet? My my, you are slow today. Here's me thinking you were mildly intelligent." A dark look slammed onto the man's face and he stared at her. "Although, seeing as you missed my daughter's killer, maybe you're not as smart as you think you are."

"Not as demented as you, in any case," she said. "Look. Just let me go now and I won't call the cops. Deal?"

Ayres laughed. "Oh sure. You're free to go." He laughed again. "Its really quite clever, you know, my evil criminal plan." He chuckled again at the irony. "Someone committing a criminal act because they weren't a criminal in the first place. Tell me, Dr. Cavanaugh, why it's okay for the state to murder people, but I can't."

"Because the state normally murders criminals," she said.

"Ah. But my wife did kill her. So wouldn't it be fair for me to have killed her?"

"No."

"Of course, we would have needed a full trial. Costing the state thousands of dollars. And she would not have suffered. She'd still have life; she'd still have herself. My daughter has nothing but the worms eating her cold flesh!" His voice had raised. "So I made her suffer."

"You murdered someone."

"Fine, if you want to continue to look at the world in black and white."

"Better than looking at it in red, like you."

He stared at her, and then forced a laugh to cover up his discomfort. "Always want the last word, don't you?"

"Damn straight," she said quietly. "So what are we doing here?"

"Waiting."

"For what?"

"For grief to take its natural course. Who knows, your pals may do themselves in before I have to dirty my hands with their blood. We could get lucky."

"You're sick," she said.

"So?" he asked. "So is 80 of the population, what's your point?"

"Maybe if we just go back to the morgue, we can get the old case files out and prove she killed your daughter."

"I still go away," he said uncertainly.

She had nothing to say to that so closed her mouth.

"So do you want to fill me in on this little game you seem to be running?"

He looked at her. "I want to know what you know."

"I don't know anything," she said.

He fingered his gun. "I think you've guessed," he said. "Say it aloud. Tell me what you have put together, from _everything _I've said. Because it all has a reason, every single thing that has been said."

Because he stressed the last sentence, it all slammed into place in her mind, from the radio to the phone to the little hints he had let drop.

"Now," he commanded, still stroking his gun.

She breathed deeply. "Dr. Macy, Detective Hoyt and I helped convict you for the murder of your wife and child. You say you didn't kill you daughter, that your wife did. You're angry. You want revenge on the three of us. For doing our jobs." She couldn't help herself, she had to add her own little smart-alec comments. "You have somehow faked my death," she said slowly. "I'm thinking it had something to do with the train wreck from this morning." Ayres was grinning happily so she continued. "But your joy wont last long, dental records don't lie. Whatever you've put of mine on that train wont hold up."

"I think you'll find that in this case, the dental records have broken their honest streak."

She frowned at him but he motioned to her to continue.

"You are going to let them think I'm dead, until they have just accepted it. You're going to keep me here, then you're going to tell them I'm still alive."

"Not quite, but you're getting there," he said, for the second time that day. "Most of it is spot on though, you really should have been a cop. Then, you probably wouldn't even be here. Go figure."


	4. Break

**A/N: Little weirder...keep reviewing! lol.**

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**Chapter 4: Break**

The first thing that went through Garret's head was _how am I going to tell her father? _It was the stupidest thought, but it consumed him nonetheless. No one had seen or heard from him for months, including her. It seemed that to disappear into oblivion was a quality that ran in the family.

He just stood and stared at the screen, the damning screen, watching the name flash on and off, on and off in front of his eyes. His face betrayed no emotion. He could feel three pairs of eyes watching him, wanting him to turn around and say there had been a mistake, laugh and chide them all for scaring them so. But there was no laugh in the Chief's eye as he turned. The tell tale look of grief was not even present, the one all three knew well enough, nor the look of stress that overcame him time and time again. There was no sign that he felt anything, no look in his eye, no twitch of his lips or jerking of his fingers. He merely stood.

"Carry on," he said in a low, low voice, and walked calm, collected, controlled out of the room. He was completely numb inside, did not know where he was, didn't know what he was doing or where he was going. His feet took him too his office, where he just stood, staring out of the window, looking at the couch, thinking of all the things they had done, all the wonderful times they had had.

"No," he said calmly. The word 'mistake' kept resounding in his head. The world was white. He felt like screaming, felt like throwing something heavy out of the window, felt like murdering someone, something. He did none of these things, just stood with an infuriatingly black look on his face.

"I have to get back to the wreck," he said decisively to himself. "I have to get back to the wreck."

Still in a state of complete blankness, numbness, he drove, carefully until he reached the site. When he saw Woody, however, he wished the earth could swallow him up. The Detective would see past even the extreme blankness, his subconscious told him. _I need to keep him away. He can't know. He can't… _Garret stopped and allowed thoughts to filter, carefully mind, lest his entire resolve break, and wondered. Why was she on this train? She was supposed to be at work! Hell, she must have been on the train when he spoke to her! And he couldn't even remember what she had said, couldn't even recall their last conversation.

As he climbed out of the car Woody came towards him. "Where'd you go? Listen we got more news on the bastard who did this." His face was grim, but nothing compared to the intense look of hatred that had twisted the ME's features. Woody was taken aback, it was not unlike the look that Jordan got sometimes. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Garret forced out between gritted teeth, the realised he had to tell him, had to be strong, had to be the pillar. Jordan was gone, denying it would not help anyone. And keeping it from people would.

"Woody," he said. "I…oh God."

Woody was becoming slightly concerned at this stage. "Doc, who died? You're as white as a sheet."

Garret stared at him. "Maybe you should visit the morgue," he said.

"Why? What's going on?"

"I…" He couldn't fob the detective off on one of them, not Bug or Nigel, even Lily. They would all be hurting, they would help no one. Only he could break this news, only he could remain strong enough not to scream and scream like he wanted to, not to tear his hair out or kick the tree like a child, not to break and tremble and cry. He would do none of these things, he would stay true to himself, true to her. If the situations were reversed and Jordan stood here in his place, she would do the same, she wouldn't break. Se would stay focussed, and _find the bastard who killed him. _The thought clamped onto his brain and he knew he wouldn't rest until he knew why she was dead, why she was not here, why the damned woman didn't show up for work. All he wanted was for her car to pull up, for her to climb out of it and make some comment or another, hell he wouldn't have minded if she were days late. He just wanted her here… but it was not to be. He slammed back into the present, noticing Woody was watching him. The man knew something was up.

"What is wrong?" the detective said again, slowly.

"Jordan is dead," he said, and before Woody could react, a tangled of words tumbled out of his mouth, how the identification process was going, how Bug entered the records he had made of the victims' teeth, how her name had shown up. He watched the detective's eyes change, the light went out, and Garret knew it would only return with her, and she was not returning. Something died in them, he saw it, he knew that look oh so well, he had seen is thousands of times. It probably happened to him too. Apart from that, Woody showed no sign he had heard.

"No way," he said. "No."

She was infallible, Garret could almost see the words flashing in Woody's eyes. How can Jordan die? How can someone so full of life, with so many quirks and secrets and years die? Snuffed out, gone? He saw it every day of his life, and yet was not as well acquainted with it as he thought. He could clearly see his thoughts echoed in the young detective's eyes.

"What was she doing on the train?" he asked. Garret shrugged.

"I don't know. Stupid fool was probably on another of her damned obsessive chases!"

Denial was written all over Woody's face. "They say you feel it, they say you know something it wrong as it happens even if you don't know it yet. Nothing. I felt nothing. Its all a lie, everything is a lie!" His voice was raised in the end, but not once did it tremble, not once did he waver. Garret felt a wave of pride, the young man was conducting himself superbly. At least by _his _standards.

-----------

"Yeah, the irony's killing me," she said wryly. "Do you realise how stupid that is?"

"Excuse me?"

"Its stupid. You're going to lure two accomplished men here, to 'rescue' me. Then it will be three to one, they will both be armed. It's dumb."

"What do you take me for?" he asked, affronted. "I have it all under control."

"Well I'm glad to hear it," she said, narrowing her eyes. She could picture the scene. A gun pointed at her, two at him, shots, someone dies, they cart him back to the morgue, do his autopsy and go home to forget all about it. Something told her it would not be that way this time, something told her this man was different somehow. Confident. He didn't want anything, nothing would satiate him. Even when a crazed man with a bomb had threatened to blow the entire morgue and all its residents to pieces, they had been able to get out of it because there was something he wanted, something he needed. There was nothing they could do to talk this man out of what he was doing, he was so intent on his plan, on whatever it was he was doing, she knew that only his incarceration or death would stop him. She shrugged. If it was death that was called for, she could dole it out just as well as she could clean up after it and find murderers. She glanced at her watch – 2:30pm, Friday.

"You hungry?" he asked, seemingly genuinely.

"No," she said stiffly. He shrugged as if to say it was her funeral. Well, technically, she supposed, it was.

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He wouldn't accept it. He couldn't. Not while everything was still so up in the air. Why had she been on the train? How had she gotten there? By car? It made sense, he had driven by her apartment and it had been missing. But he had put out an APB on it and so far nothing. It didn't make sense. That and the fact that


	5. Life is a Bitch

**A/N: I just wrote, possibly, the longest AN ever to be seen (lol) and I managed to ERASE IT ALL! So bear with me here!**

**Jinubean - I was hoping no one would pick this up until Garret did. See he was all in shock and everything - didn't stop to think that it wasn't possible that she was dead. So thanks for spoiling it! lmao just kidding! Glad you spotted it:) But yeah that was purposeful! (at least that's my story :P) Like Ayres says in this chapter, he's set the stage all he has to do it sit back and watch. And the Lion King thing - haha yes definatley the best Disney movie! Thanks for your reviews I love them!**

**NadezhdaSt - Heeey! Church choir, hey? Sounds fun! About your plot-hole, yes, you were right. He is not one to take chances, however, he has left a lot of room for errors, which is what makes his plan so fool proof, or rather gives him so much confidence in it. He figured that, even though the body may not have been sent to their morgue, they would find out pretty soon anyway. And the one resource Ayres has plenty of is time. He does not have a time frame for his plan, it will take place when it does. Like I said, room for error. Thanks for the review!**

**Okay I better do a disclaimer next... Thanks to Orlando-crazy, Mrs. Rhett Butler, KittyDoggyLover, Taybry and Susan Rose Potter for reviewing.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own the characters...oh except Ayres, I take full credit for him...hehe. Okay well everyone knows the rest of the drill...**

**Chapter 5: Life is a Bitch**

"Look, why don't you tell me what's eating you? We may be able to work something out."

He looked up from the spot on the carpet that he had been staring at.

"Do you know what its like to have the person you care most about in the world taken away?"

She looked at him. "Yes," she said quietly. He frowned slightly but other than that didn't miss a beat.

"Hey I'll still beat you as far as sob stories go," he said.

"Oh, I think I could give you a run for your money. I'll tell you what. We'll have a competition. Or a game. I'm the shrink, you're the patient. Then we'll swap roles."

He surveyed her and nodded, giving her a small thrill. She had made an offer, and he had accepted! She had been right, right in thinking he was human, that he was fallible. She could win this war yet.

"So, Jeremy, how's your life been thus far?" she asked in a mocking parody of a shrink.

He snorted. "Ever been locked up in a mental asylum?" he asked. She shook her head. "Its worse than jail."

"Now there I've been," she said. He grinned.

"Not nice, eh?"

She shook her head. "Not at all."

"Its horrible having people speak slowly to you, you know? Being treated like a second class citizen."

"Hey, welcome to the world of a child. Quite ironic too, when children are often far more perceptive and intelligent than us, and they certainly have better reasoning skills."

He laughed. "Exactly. They just have a different perspective. Anyway, I was not insane."

"No, of course not. It was all an act."

"Every bit," he said, nodding. "Pretty good, too."

"Makes you wish you went to acting school, huh?"

"I would have been good at that," he said wistfully. "Instead I was pushing papers all day long."

"What did you do?"

"I worked for the FBI," he said. She stared, and a trickle of information crawled back into her mind.

"You were demoted," she said. "Then fired."

"Yep," he said. "The stress had been accumulating, and I snapped." He didn't seem to want to divulge the details.

"Life is a bitch, isn't it?" she said scathingly, but he seemingly missed the insincerity and nodded his head in agreement.

"It sure is."

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Woody climbed out of his car and walked towards the morgue. He knew this feeling – was well acquainted with it. It was the absolute devastation and grief that could only come with death. He had felt it when his mother died, and again when his father followed, and hoped never to feel it again. But he had, and this, in some small, indefinable way, was worse. The pain was acute, it taunted him and danced just out of his reach so he could not grab it and look at it properly, but it was there, always there. His friend, his love, was gone. He had no trouble admitting these feelings to himself even now there was no way he could hold her and tell her he loved her. She was a corpse, and all that was in her future was decomposition and burial, something that seemed so inadequate. How can a life so vibrant, so full, just be gone? Her hands, her face, her hair, gone. All gone. He couldn't believe it, all the risks she had taken, all the potentially fatal situations she had gotten herself in, she survived them all, her spirit and quick thinking had served her. But what could one woman do against a train out of control? And now she was dead.

His feet had carried him across the carpark and into the elevator, almost without him knowing. The doors slid open and he stepped out, staring at the morgue. It was still functioning, still running. He couldn't understand it! The people were chatting, smiling, laughing as if it was a normal day? How could they not be standing still, stupidly, like he was? How could they not be feeling the pain he was? How could anything still happen, run, function, how could they move and work and gossip?

That was how Lily found him, staring blankly, standing in front of the lift.

"Woody?" she asked tentatively. His eyes slowly came around and met hers. _A familiar face, _he thought numbly_. Someone who understands._

"I need to…" He stopped. He needed her, that's what he needed. Nothing else. "Tell me this is a sick joke," he said in that strange voice that sometimes overcame him when he was stressed. "Please."

Her face crumpled in grief and she took his arm, steering him away from the hustle and bustle of the lobby and into her office.

"How could this happen?" he asked as she shut the door.

"I don't know, Woody," she said. She was in shock too, she was upset. She couldn't help him, just like she hadn't been able to help Garret. Their feelings just ran too deep.

"I'm sorry, Lily," he said, and his eyes met hers. The shadows fell away and he was there, back again in his entirety, much to her intense relief. He could see his friend was terribly upset, and was only just holding it together. He could not expect her to be strong for both of them. He took a step towards her and encircled him in his arms. She latched onto him, and allowed herself to cry, for the first time since the news had come out. His eyes were wet too as he squeezed her and stroked her hair, trying to soothe her.

Garret watched from the window, frowning slightly. Why had he come here? The detective obviously associated this place with _her, _had never known it before she was here. The younger man was either trying to confront his feelings, or was still in denial. Garret shook his head and walked back to his office.

Twenty minutes later, the detective followed the same path.

"Garret?"

The ME's head lifted and their eyes locked.

"I can't accept it."

"What do you mean?" Garret asked, surveying him.

"There are too many questions, and a shortage of answers. Help me find out why she died."

Garret stared at him, trying to read the look in his eyes.

"Don't hope," he said, finally.

"What?"

"There is no hope. She is dead."

Woody steeled himself. "Fine. I need to know why."

"Why?"

"So I can accept it. As it is, she is still in present tense in my mind."

"Its only been a matter of hours since…" Garret stopped, throat constricting. "Do you want more pain?"

"We owe it to her," he said. "It was her philosophy. To know the whys, the wherefores. Not to rest until she had it."

"It was probably her undoing," he said tactlessly.

Woody exploded. "She is not undone!" he shouted, voice finally wavering. He took a deep breath. "If you don't want to help me, I'll do it myself." He stormed out, anger written all over his face, and looked for the door to Trace, where Bug and Nigel were bent over their respective decedants.

"Where is she?" he demanded, watching their heads snap up, and they read the desperate glint in his eyes for what it was.

"In the crypt," Bug said sadly.

"Show me," the detective barked. Bug nodded and beckoned for him to follow.

-------------

"She broke her promise."

If it was possible, Jordan wished she had never opened the closet, wished she had never asked him. The man's story was more depressing than hers, he was making her want to slash her own wrists. No wonder the guy's a maniac, she thought to herself. His father had been abusive, had beat him and his small brother, and probably his mother too. She hadn't stuck around long enough for them to find out, had met another man and ran off. Of course she kept in touch with her sons, loved them to bits, but it just wasn't enough. Jeremy in no way held it against her, he said that in her position he would have done exactly the same thing. He had grown, gotten a job doing what he loved, married and had a beautiful daughter. Then the wall he had built, the life he had managed to erect for himself had crumbled, gradually, with every blow, until it smashed completely and he had snapped, killing his wife and daughter. Not that he would admit to the killing of his daughter, he still maintained that it was his wife.

"Who?" Jordan asked.

"Melissa."

_Of course, the wife, _she thought.

"She said she'd stick by me, you know? She vowed, before God!"

"I thought you were an atheist."

"I am. That's beside the point." Even when he was under stress, recounting the worst moments of his life, he retained his wit and sense of humour, which only cemented Jordan's fear. He was more like her than they both gave him credit for.

"She said, she vowed. For better or for worse. In sickness and in…"

"Death?" Jordan broke in, eyebrow raised. He glanced sharply at her.

"I only broke the vows after she did. They were void."

"Of course," Jordan said dryly. They lapsed into silence.

"Your turn," he said after a while. She looked at him reluctantly. She had hoped that he had forgotten the deal.

"What do you want to know?"

Ayres looked at her. "You said before you knew. Knew what it was like to lose someone. Who did you lose?"

She hesitated. "My mother."

"How old were you?"

She paused again. "Ten."

He nodded. "Then you do understand. How did she die?"

"She was murdered," she said.

"By your father?" he guessed, his view of fathers forever tainted. Jordan bristled.

"No. We never found the killer."

He nodded, seeming to identify with her. As he did so, she wondered, and took a chance.

"We all know," she began. "Macy, the detectibe. We've all lost people."

He stared, visibly steeling. "Well now they've lost someone else."

She stared at him, hope again dashed. "What do you do now, then?" she asked. "How long do we wait?"

He grinned. "I've decided to skip the funeral. So not long. Depends on how smart they are, really."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

'Don't you see? There are so many inconsistencies! All they have to do it study the records, give them to someone who knows you, hell, even they'd know you well enough to know you didn't have three fillings. Plus, nothing else adds up. All I did was switch the dental records. If they're smart they'll guess sooner or later. My work is pretty much done. I've bought the props, set the stage, now I just have to turn the camera on and start filming."

As if impressed with his own genius, he grinned happily. "So I guess you'll probably be hungry by now?"


	6. Maybe Next Time You'll Think Twice

**A/N: **

**Hello! **

**As for the quote in the second 'part', it is from Perfect Storm, when Lily was trying to snap Garret out of a morose mood. I thought it was appropriate, and 1, its their history, and 2, if we steal the characters we may as well steal the lines! lol. Haha its okay, Jinubean, I probably would have forgotten about the little phone thing if you hadn't pointed it out:P. Ok this AN is infinitely shorter than last...so I wont keep you any longer...**

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**Chapter 6: Maybe Next Time You'll Think Twice**

As Bug had predicted in his mind, Woody was definitely sorry he had demanded to see her. He couldn't even put his disgust into words. She was nothing, there was nothing left of her. Her beautiful eyes, the ones he had drowned in time and time again, the ones he knew so well, were gone, burnt. Her skin had burnt and shrivelled into a black, ghostly parody of its former self. Her hands were curled around, as if she was gripping something, trying to close her beautiful, deft fingers around something that just was not there. He blinked back the tears and the sobs that threatened to wrack his chest were held in. He looked at Bug.

"I need to know why," he said simply, and Bug nodded, completely understanding, and watched with a weary sadness as the detective left the crypt. Bug stared down at what was left of his friend. He couldn't sob, couldn't cry. All he could do was sigh heavily and lament over the pointlessness of it all.

Woody walked slowly, but deliberately out of the crypt. The chatter hit him forcefully, and he wavered before continuing on.

"Woody!"

He turned, not expecting to see Garret when he did.

"I'll help."

Woody looked at him a moment, before nodding his head.

"What do you suggest?"

"Why was she on the train?"

"Good call," Woody said gruffly, and they walked out to the car together.

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After she had turned down yet another offer of food, she allowed herself to think. She was here, everyone thought she was dead. She felt sick to the stomach at the thought, all the unnecessary pain they would be feeling was a physical blow to her. But, she supposed, Ayres was well aware of that. He had maximised all pain, she could not think of anything he could do that would be more hurtful to those he was targeting. She shook her head, pointless thoughts would do no one good. As Lily had once said, while she stood on listening, 'for all the factors that was bringing this together, there are factors keeping it apart. I'm one of them. We all are.' Jordan could have laughed. She was right, so right. This time she was the factor, this plan hadn't left this room, oh, its ramifications had, yes, but the intelligence and logistics remained right here. And she needed to know exactly what was going on, exactly what was happening, if she was to try and figure out how she was going to get them all out of it.

"Your plan wont work," she said into the silence. He looked at her, trying to read her, then grinned.

"Goading me wont work, Missy."

She let her shoulders slump in apparent disappointment, and summoned her best defeated voice. She needed to double her act in order to fool him, but she felt she was up to it.

"I just don't understand," she said in a small voice.

"What exactly don't you understand?"

She grinned inwardly. _Hook, line and sinker, _she thought proudly. She had obviously missed the knowing glint in the man's eye.

"Why you want us to suffer. It doesn't make sense."

"I am a strong believer in punishment," he said wryly, and she caught herself quickly before she laughed. "You don't need to understand it. That isn't the point."

"Do me the courtesy," she said, dropping the pretence. "What is on the…" Her eyes caught the piece of paper on the coffee table. "Menu?"

He followed her gaze and grinned. "Super super supreme," he said. "Party size."

-------------

"Okay, lets brainstorm. Any ideas on why she might have been on the train?" Garret stared straight ahead. It had been a wordless agreement between the two, that he would drive. He had more experience, and a cooler head. Woody hadn't complained, had merely planted himself in the passengers seat.

"No," he said, thinking. "She said nothing to me."

Garret shook his head.

"Where exactly are we going?" Woody asked.

"Her apartment."

"You got a key?"

Garret patted his pocket and nodded.

They were both reluctant to walk up the stairs, but did so, both of them feeling a physical weight on their feet as they lifted and placed, lifted and placed. Woody was beginning to enjoy the numb rhythm that allowed his mind to go blank, when the stairs levelled out and they were on her floor.

When they reached the door, Garret pushed in the key and they stepped inside the room.

Woody did not allow himself to think, couldn't let himself look at it too much, blocked fiercely the memories that were bursting out of the seams, that were threatening to bring him to his knees. He felt a terrible pain, like a knot in his chest, and unconsciously rubbed at it with a balled fist. Garret watched as a horrible expression twisted his face as he stared around at everything, as he was hit with everything she owned, all hers. She lingered here, she remained, and neither of them wanted to walk forward and break the fragile atmosphere that their memories, and her life, had created. They paused, breath catching in their chests as they were hit again with what they had lost.

"The most likely scenario is," Garret said, avoiding the detectives eyes. "That she found something."

"What do you mean?"

He ignored the question. "Look for something," he said.

"What?"

"Anything."

Woody nodded slowly and began to walk, as if in a dream, around the apartment. Ten minutes into the search, Woody found something. Not anything that could possibly lead them to an answer, but something just the same. In a small drawer in her bedroom in her dresser, he would have missed it had he not been looking directly at it, was a small material pouch, which looked like a small child had stitched it. He held it gingerly in his hands, and pulled the button open, and a bunch of photos fell out into his lap. Garret saw out of the corner of his eye that Woody had stopped, and edged closer, trying to get a glimpse of what he'd found.

Woody held the photos in his hand, not looking at them as his eyes had become strangely blurry. Trying to focus them, he stared at the first one.

Garret watched as Woody went through the photos. Jordan's father and mother featured regularly, which caused no reaction from the two, but when the photos of _them _started coming out, they found it hard to focus. A couple of both Woody and Garret were there, photos the two didn't even remember. Woody choked back a sad laugh as he came to the last one; last years Christmas party that was held at the morgue. Jordan had her arm thrown around him companionably and was partially bent over, crying with laughter. He didn't recall the joke but remembered they had all been more than a little drunk.

_Never again, _whispered a nasty voice in his mind. _Never again._

------------

"Do you think I should let them see you before they die?" Ayres said, breaking the silence. He was twirling a pen around in his fingers, able to see her eyes following it, an irritated expression mingled with one of disgust on his face. He lifted his eyes slowly to meet hers. "Well?"

"Do what you like," she said. "And so will I."

"Gee, you really look threatening too."

"As about as threatening as you."

He studied her. "Because I was thinking. They could die, thinking their friend was dead, or at least with that possibility. That would be nice and bleak. Or I could let you have a lovely little reunion, and shoot them in front of you." He chuckled. "I know," he said, purposefully misinterpreting her look or horror. "Shooting is so common. Unfortunately it's the only practical way."

"And you're just going to let me go."

He looked at her. "What do you take me for?" he said, with a mock offended look on his face. "I guarantee you, you wont _walk_ out of here." He chuckled. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before you…"

"Do my job? Oh yeah, I definitely will."

"Don't be smart," he said. "It doesn't get you anywhere in life."

------------

"Nothing," Woody spat as they closed the heavy red door behind them. Garret glanced at him. The strain was starting to show on the young detective, his eyes were narrowed and hard, a cold icy blue, he was shaking slightly, ever so slightly, but Garret's trained eye picked it up as if he was jumping up and down. Garret reasoned that he probably didn't look much better.

They both sat, side by side in the car. An observer would raise an eyebrow at the almost identical expressions on their faces, a mixture of anger, grief and determination.

"We'll go to the train stops," Woody said. "All if them, closest to one in Los Angeles, for all I care."

Garret nodded, not even bothering to state the obvious, that they both had jobs, lives, and even to search five train stops would take them well into the night.

"I don't even remember when I last spoke to her," Woody said after about fifteen minutes of contemplative silence. Garret didn't reply, instead was plunged into their last conversation.

Woody stared to his right, out of the window, and watched the buildings fly by. They all merged into one blur, a bleak, grey mush of the best of times mixed with the worst of times. If there was no happiness, then there was no sorrow. Even as his practical mind tried to accept that, tried to prepare to live by it, as it worked in theory, he knew he would never stick to it, and knew he would endure this sorrow every waking moment for the rest of his life, if he could see her again, one more time. He was jolted, literally, out of his reverie as the car ground to a complete, sudden stop, and his head was thrown forward. As far as he could see they had not been hit, and was about to shout at Garret when he saw the white look on the ME's face. It was a look of sheer horror, guilt, pain that he himself was moved. Garret swerved off to the side of the road, even as Woody was thinking that this was not the place to express his sorrow. Garret threw the door open and stared around, grabbing at his jacket, and pulling his phone out. Undoing his seatbelt, Woody jumped out.

"What is it?" he asked urgently.

"She's not dead!" Garret said quietly, tentatively, looking at Woody, daring, only just allowing himself to believe. He was clutching his phone, and he shook it at the detective, a look of the most intense relief he had ever seen crossing his face. "She's not dead!"


	7. A Small Flaw

**A/N: Hey hey you guys slow down - I don't even know if anyone's neck's on the chopping block yet, don't get ahead of yourself. LOL. GoddessofSnark - exactly, they are great to write you can do whatever and laugh at them! I save my 10-feet jumping for when my really loud Hamster Dance ringtone goes off at 2am, but I get your meaning:D Mm yes I wanted to explore Jordan's death but couldn't possibly kill her. Hence...well...this! Thanks to everyone who reviewed...as I keep saying its FUNNERIFIC to read them. Well maybe I haven't said that...okay theres a first for everything.**

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****Chapter 7: A Small Flaw**

The two, bound by some silent bond, something that made them alike, sat in silence and stared into nothingness, each thinking their own thoughts. Jordan's eyes had dimmed, as they did when she was thinking. It was fascinating to watch. She would shut down completely; the shutters came down over her eyes and her breathing slowed. The lights were on, and everybody was home. Her mind worked overtime, but still she could think of nothing she could do. The curtains lifted, and Ayres, who was watching her, could see that she was back, so to speak.

"Now are you hungry?"

In response, her stomach screamed eagerly, not caring that she could not possibly accept food from this…person. Not even a slice of pizza.

_Oh come on, _her middle begged. She sighed and relented, reaching into her wallet and throwing a twenty-dollar note on the table. He looked at it, looked back at her with a look of utter amazement on his face and burst into laughter. Her face remained impassive. She was thinking, maybe when the delivery came she could scream out, ask for help. But when the time came, Ayres looked at her.

"Try it and you die," he said.

"And there's the small flaw in your plan," she said triumphantly. "Death is as far as you can go, and I know you don't want that, not yet."

Instead of fuming, Ayres beamed.

"Finally cottoning on, Doctor!" he said brightly, and bounced out of the room. Jordan sunk back into her seat, knowing she was beaten. There was nothing she could do, or so she thought, until she spotted the phone on the table.

_He wouldn't be that stupid, he wants me to ring, _was her immediate thought, but she ignored it and reached for the piece of plastic that could very well mean their saviour.

-----------

"What?" Woody said, frantically trying to make a glazed-eyed Garret look at him.

"She's alive," the ME repeated, finally meeting the detective's eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Woody said, voice raised. "She's dead, you saw her!" he was shouting now, eyes wet with grief and a hope that he believed was false.

"She can't be," he said, looking at him.

Woody stepped forward, gripping the man with his shoulders.

"Snap out of it!" he yelled.

Garret shook himself free and looked at the detective. "You don't understand," he said hoarsely. He didn't believe the great weight that had been lifted from him, he felt like jumping up and down and screaming with relief. But he did neither. "She can't be dead, because I spoke to her."

"What do you mean?" Woody said. The confusion blocked the hope that Garret was offering, he couldn't understand, couldn't see how she could be alive when he had seen her, seen her burnt, dead. Garret was too elated to see the absolute look of sorrow that Woody was just too weary to mask. _He _wanted to sink into the ground, wanted blackness and oblivion, wanted out. He was sick of the pain, sick of the aching in his chest, sick of the feeling that he would never be happy again.

"I spoke to her," Garret said again. "This morning. Telling her to come_ straight to the train wreck._"

"So what, Garret I…" He stopped abruptly and stared at the older man. A great grin was breaking out on the ME's face.

"If she was here she'd tell you to think twice before calling in a corpse to work," Woody said, numb with relief, echoing the grin on his friend's face.

-------------

Frantically she dialled Woody's number. She had wavered slightly when it came to deciding on who she would ring, just punched in his number because it was more likely he'd have his cell with him.

"Pick up," she muttered, eyes straying to the door, hoping beyond hope he would take his precious time.

"Hoyt," a voice barked into the phone, sounding intensely distracted. Jordan didn't particularly want to give him a heart attack, but had to be quick.

"Its me," she said in a low voice.

His shout caused her to have to hold the phone an inch from her ear.

"Shut up," she commanded. "I have limited time…look I'm about twenty minutes out of town…I…"

She jumped as footsteps sounded, hastily whispered a 'goodbye' and slammed the phone back down on the hook, cursing inwardly as the door opened and in walked Ayres, pizza box in hand. He threw it down on the table.

"Super supreme," he said, raising his eyebrow. Jordan looked at him, impassive. His eyes flickered towards the phone, and a small smile played around his lips.

_He knows, _she thought erratically, but allowed not even a reaction to reach her face or eyes. He flipped the lid open and tore away a slice, pushing the box towards her, and watched as she did the same.

"So," he said. She gave him a strange look and he shrugged. "I've always been one for dinner conversation."

"Well talk away," she said, apathy evident in her tone. He grinned.

"What was your most embarrassing moment?" he asked. She frowned, and decided to play along.

"When I was nine," she said. "My Dad's friends were over, and my mother sent me into them with a tray of juice." She smiled, as if in memory. "I tripped coming in, fell flat on my face and the juice went everywhere. I was mortified."

He laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that saw her grinning in response.

"I was about fifteen," he said. "I was trying to get up the courage to ask a girl to a dance."

"Let me guess, way out of your league?"

He smiled. "Oh yeah. I couldn't do it to her face, so I wrote her a letter. Now my friend, a complete ass, slipped it in with the daily memos and the office lady read it out to the whole school. You could have fried an egg on my face."

She chuckled, that image coming to mind.

"I guess you were a geek?" she asked.

He thought about it. "Not really. It never really bothered me in high school. I was just who I was."

She looked at him. "Yeah," she said. "Me too. Guess I thought the whole 'teenage angst' thing was a little cliché."

"Cynical old nag even when you were a kid, huh?"

"Yeah something like that," she said, and caught herself before she smiled. This man was solely responsible for the tone of her friends voice when he had answered. Intense relief could only mean intense pain had preceded it. She frowned, trying to imagine it in his shoes, trying to determine how she would feel had he died. It would not be pleasant, she conceded with a sigh, knowing she could not possibly begin to understand unless she had been there. And she had been many, many places, just not there. _Better buy a ticket, _she thought wryly. _It does not end here._

---------------

"Trace the last call that came to this cell," Garret demanded, tossing the phone in a dozing Nigel's lap. The criminologist's head came up and Garret saw the anger in his face, and felt a wave of hatred come over him for whoever had done this, whoever had caused such pain for his friends. Woody had gone back to the precinct, hope rekindled, to see if he could suss out who on earth could have pulled of such a feat, and how the hell the dental records had been mixed up.

"How can you even think of…" Nigel began, pain clearly definable in his voice.

"She's not dead," he said. Nigel was on his feet in an instant.

"What?"

Garret snorted. "You heard me," he said. "Do it. We need to find her."

"Why would she…?"

"She wouldn't!" he said, looking at him. He nodded and looked at the phone, walking off and muttering something to himself.

"Spread the news," Garret said softly, watching him go with something of a contemplative look on his face.

Woody had hurried back to the office as soon as they got back into the city. He had spent the last hour frantically trying himself to get access to the dental records, or better, the people who controlled them, and found out that only the people who had special access could tamper with them. And, they assured him, somewhat pompously in his opinion, that there was no was they could have been.

"Yeah?" he asked, voice dangerously low. "Yeah? Then how come I got a phone call from someone who was supposed to be dead?"

"Please don't shout, Mr. Hoyt," the voice said calmly, causing Woody to want to slap its owner.

"Detective," he said through gritted teeth. "They were tampered with. I suggest you up your security. Oh, maybe you should wait until after I get an expert to hack into your system."

He slammed the phone down without even a by-your-leave, and left, in search of the only 'expert' he knew.


	8. Musing On Death, A Rare Thing For An ME

**A/N: Hello guys! Sorry for the delay - pet crisis - mummy mice making meals out of baby mice...not very pleasant. Well there's your dinner spoiled:D Apologies. Uhm...a little Ayres POV thrown in here - tell me if you like/dislike psycho killer weirdo's POV and I will continue/discontinue putting it in there:D Thaaanks to daynaa, KittyDoggyLover, Jinubean, jtbwriter, Orlando-crazy and TPC - all your reviews are invaluable and very much appreciated! **

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**Chapter 8: Musing On Death – A Rare Thing For An ME**

"Doorknocking?" Garret queried from the passengers seat of Woody's car. The detective looked ahead. His hope had been rekindled, but he was not under the illusion that just because she had not died in the train wreck she hadn't been killed in some other way. Or wasn't about to be. They couldn't let anything get in their way.

"Got a better idea?"

Garret smiled dryly. "Somehow, I just knew you were going to say that."

"Then why ask?"

Garret shrugged. "Question everything," he murmured.

"Pity we didn't apply that philosophy this morning, huh?" he said grimly, and Garret shot him a look.

"Oh come on. How rare it is? The chance of the records being swapped was a million to one!"

"We should know by now," he replied. "People are nuts."

"Oh they are completely around the twist. So much so they manage to pull off normal things once in a while," Garret said sardonically.

"Like blowing trains up."

Garret nodded. "Point taken. Hey this is the place."

Nigel had been able to trace the call to Woody's cell down to about a square kilometre, a neighbourhood right on the outskirts of Boston. Woody slowed and they both stared around, looking for any sign of her car.

"We'll do a few houses per street."

"Its going to get dark soon," Garret warned.

Woody ignored him and continued looking.

"Nothing," he said after they had driven up and down all the streets in the neighbourhood. He pulled over and they got out.

"Okay, this street first."

Garret sent him a dubious look, but shrugged and followed anyway. What did he know?

-------------

Ayres dozed, much to Jordan's surprise. She watched his chest rise and fall slowly, and the tell-tale flicker of the eyelids that would suggest he was faking was absent, so either he was asleep, or a wonderful actor.

She stood and walked to the window. The sun was readying itself to drop out of her view and break the night for the Southern Hemisphere. It was amazing, she mused., that the world could work so well on one level, and be completely screwed on another. It just happened that humans were the ones responsible for the screwed part – while they can take credit for most of the suffering and pain that took place, they paled in comparison to natures miracles, something as simple as the sun rising and falling to light people's day. Jordan wondered if it was worth it, the pain, the grief that people dealt with every day. Animals did not feel mental pain, they knew only life and death, and that one was to be avoided. But, she reasoned, animals cold not love as they did. Not with their entire beings, not enough to die for those that they loved. And love was something she would not lightly give up, with all its unrewarding frustrations.

She wondered at her own beliefs, something she did perhaps too rarely. Raised a Catholic it had been difficult for her to shake her teaching, but once she accepted the ME's job nearly a decade ago, it had become increasingly clearer to her of the obvious absence of a god, a higher 'power' watching over them. How could anything conscious allow such atrocities to happen? How could whoever it was live with themselves? She also though it ironically convenient that religion allayed people's fear of death. _Weak, _she spat into her mind. Death was not something to be feared, not in itself. She knew it was the _unknown _that they, and she herself, feared. But the difference was, she did not rely on some mythical being to save her from it. She feared it, wanted to avoid it, oh yes. But when the time came she knew she would accept it with open arms. But the rest of the human race? It was unknown, and unknowable, and humans would continue to fear it, until they drove the entire species from the world, or blow it up in the process.

She was jolted from her thoughts by a muffled knock that had come from the front door. Ayres had also woken up, and had jumped to his feet, unable to hide the flash of worry that crossed his face. _Who could be calling? _He looked at Jordan.

"Move and you will regret it," he said in a low voice. She sneered at him, but it was not backed up, and he knew it. He sent her another warning glance and whisked reluctantly out of the room, picking up the phone on the way out, much to the doctors disappointment.

Ayres got to the front door in record time. He breathed deeply and opened the door a sliver. Who it was rocked the man to his core.

"Boston PD," the taller of the two said gruffly. He was horribly familiar to Ayres, but apparently the detective did not remember him, which only angered the unstable man further. The older man glared at him through hooded eyes as well, not recognising him.

_Fools, _he screamed into his mind.

"How can I help you, detective?"

The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes, but did not comment. "I need to know if you saw a car already," he said.

"I saw cars aplenty, sir," Ayres said, in a terribly sarcastic tone. Garret cleared his throat.

"One car in particular," the detective said, and described it.

_They know, _he said, a thrill going through his body. These were the two, along with the woman inside, who were solely responsible for the mess that was his life. He itched to grab them by their stupid coats and drag them into his house, hack them to bits and finish the whole thing. But he stopped himself, only just, noting Macy's eyes flicker to the hand that had just twitched. _All in good time, _Ayres repeated over and over to himself.

"No I haven't seen anything like that."

The detective shot Macy a dark look, and he sighed.

"Okay," Macy said heavily. "Give us a call if you see it."

The detective handed him a white card, which Ayres clutched in one fist as he watched the two walk down his drive, out of his reach. He shut the door calmly and walked deliberately back into the room they had sat in all day.

"You might want to look out the window," he said mildly to Jordan, who had sat down on the lounge and was staring at the floor. She frowned, got up and walked over. He grinned, good humour returning, when a look of horror crossed her face.

"No!" she screamed, rattling the windows, and bashed on the window in her frustration as she watched her friends drive away. She leaned her head on the window, its coolness calming her. She turned back to Ayres, and surprisingly, smiled genuinely.

"Thank you," she said, in all seriousness. "Now I know they know I'm not dead."

For the second time that day, Ayres was unseated. _Unexpected, _he mused. _She is getting the hang of the game. _

To suffer or not to suffer? she was thinking, watching and gauging his reaction. _It is amusing, when you turn it around and switch your perspectives. _And that was the trick to the whole thing, she suddenly realised. He would do something, and she could choose either to accept it or reject it. By accepting, she lost the round, but it was difficult to find a way to reject the offer. By finding the lighter side of his latest hurdle, she had won the round. She grinned inwardly. She might get them out of this mess yet.

She sobered down and wondered; was this game a symbol of life in general? Was optimism the key? But before she could explore the idea, her had-won cynicism kicked in and she dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

---------------

"Do you know that guy?" Woody asked as they drove away from the house. Garret looked at him.

"No," he said slowly. "Why?"

"Looks familiar," Woody said, and shrugged.

"Probably has a criminal brother or something," Garret said off-handedly. "Where do we go from here?"

"I have no idea," he said quietly. "Back to the morgue I guess."

"How about we go home?" Garret said gently.

Woody glared at him. "Are you crazy?"  
"Quite probably," Garret said.

Woody ignored him and breathed. Truth be told, he was weary. It had been possibly the longest day in his memory, and it felt like it had spanned weeks rather than hours, and part of him would like nothing more than to go home, shower, and sit on his balcony with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and a glass of cold whisky in his hand.

But he could no more bring himself to do that than he could to kill her himself. Because he sensed that every second was precious, every small mistake they meant cost her more and more, until she had no more left to give. They needed information; they needed to know what was going on, and what the stakes were. And he would not give in to fancy until she was safe and could enjoy a cold drink of her own right beside him.

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**A/N: Had to chuck a shirtless Woody in there. Just had to. :P**


	9. Square Minus One

**A/N: Hey BadSlayer! Yeah ok, maybe it was an overshare, but you know. What's done is done! LOL 'no spelling errors', you know it was actually my perogative NOT to have spelling errors? LMAO. (Personal joke...lol) jtbwriter - maybe you're right, maybe she should have followed but remember she didn't know who it was, it could easily have been someone on his side, and she wants to get out of this, and figures that the longer she leaves it the less likely she is to be killed. I dunno. lol. hottemolly - don't worry I'll finish it. I have as much fun writing this as you do reading! Possibly more! lol. mdnghtblu518 - shirtless Woody definitley is always good. Fool-proof. Even if it was only in his musings. Thanks everybody else for reviewing! If I'm lucky I might finish chapter 10 by tonight! haha. If you've ever got any suggestions I'm all ears...coz how this is going to finish is really up to the muses at the moment 'cause I don't have much of an idea. lol. So I am impressionable. Okay - read ahead!

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****Chapter 9: Square Minus One**

"Morning sleepy head," Ayres said as Jordan sat up, looking around, momentarily disorientated. As soon as she spotted him, however, she remembered exactly where she was.

"That's what you do at night," she muttered defensively.

He put his hands up. "I know, I know, I didn't mean anything by it. Jeez you're paranoid."

"You'd be paranoid too if you'd been kidnapped as many times as I have."

"What?" he asked, wondering where she was going. She looked at him, careful to make her voice sound thick and groggy.

"Do you know how many times I've been in this situation?" she said casually. "Well neither do I! I gave up keeping tally after I went through my first notebook."

"Yeah," he said. "Sure you did."

"I'm dead serious, no pun intended. This is all in a day's work," she paused, looking at her watch. "Or rather two days' work. Same with Hoyt and Macy. I predict that we'll all, well except you of course, be in our beds by tomorrow night. Who knows, we may have even forgotten about this by the next day. You're nothing special to us." She made sure to work some contempt into her tone, and watched him fume.

"Really, you're nothing full stop," she continued. "I've been in far worse situations."

"Oh?" he said, voice strained. "What?"

She looked at him, putting on a bright 'I don't give a damn' voice. "Well there was this one time, where I was buried alive. Had the coffin and everything."

"Well aren't you the escape artist?"

"Oh yeah," she said airily. "This is just another one for the books. Not even worth telling to the next guy that tries this."

He stood abruptly, and slammed his hand into the chair by her head.

"Shut up!" he shouted, staring into her eyes. Their head were inches apart, and still he shouted. "Shut your smart mouth!"

He took his hand away, gave her a black look and left the room.

"Round five goes to the good guys," she said, smiling.

---------------

"You didn't sleep." It wasn't a question, so the detective didn't provide Garret with an answer.

"We have to trace the records," he said. "We find out who the body is, we may find…something that points us in her general direction.

"It's a long shot. However we need to identify her anyway."

"And how does one go about that without dental records?"

Garret looked at him. "Same way we would any other. Anything at all." He walked away, leaving the detective in the corridor.

"Nige?" he called. The criminologist poked his head out of the office he and Bug shared.

"Dr. M?"

"Come help me in trace. The Jane Doe from the train wreck."

"Ah, our mystery woman. I did anticipate that you would want to work on her."

Garret came closer. "And?"

"Well, if you hadn't already guessed from the fact I called her our 'mystery' woman, she could not be identified."

"Nothing?" Garret asked, and Nigel shook his head grimly.

"Not a single match. No one has reported her missing, or said she was on a train."

"Did you measure her?"

"Yep. Around Jordan's height."

Garret nodded. "Yeah I figured." He paused. "Look, this girl had to have dental records, if they were to be swapped with Jordan's. Whoever did this needed to have something to swap with."

"I don't know how they did it though, Dr. M," he said. "Woody called me last night, told me to see if I could get in there. Spent most of the night on it! But nothing, I could not crack the code. And it's not just my ability, or seeming lack thereof. It's damn near impossible to do unless you have insiders access."

Garret frowned. "No way to interview them all, I don't suppose?"

Nigel looked at the Chief ME. "Now you would probably know the FBI better than me," he began. "But they don't take too kindly to being investigated."

"No," Garret agreed. "But we might have to, if there is nothing else."

"All I can suggest is that we work on cracking the train wreck mystery," Nigel said. "Because whoever faked her death either caused it or knew that it was going to happen."

Garret nodded. "Even though it's likely the feds already have the answer," he said. "They haven't exactly been down here probing us for our information."

"I wouldn't speak so soon. Don't look now, Dr. M, but…"

Garret looked anyway, and walking towards them was a woman he recognised from the train wreck.

"Dr. Macy," the woman said, and held her badge out to him. "Agent Farrell, FBI."

"Agent Farrell," he said politely. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a list of those you have identified. How many left?"

"All but a couple who have proved impossible to identify," he said, then told Nigel to run and get the list. "I would be grateful if you told me what you know."

"I can't divulge details…"

"One of my people is at great risk," he said quietly, as if commenting on the weather. "I suggest you tell me what you know."

"I can't," she said firmly. "Take it up with my supervisor, I am not…"

"I am talking to you," he said. "Tell me what you know, or I swear I will uncover it and unmask whatever it is you're trying to cover up, with great insensitivity."

Farrell looked at him, as if weighing him up. "Your threats don't sway me."

"Please," he said, and she read the desperation in his eyes. She sighed.

"It wouldn't have much to do with your doctor," she said. "We are pretty sure it was a terrorist hit."

"Who?"

"I am _so_ not at liberty to say," she said, trying to make him smile. For some reason she found herself liking this forward man.

"Whoever it was is allied with the guy we're after."

"We would have no way of finding that out," she said gently. "They cover their tracks well."

"Guess we'll have to raid every house in the neighbourhood, then," he said mildly. She sent him a look.

"Sure you will."

"I will if I have to."

Nigel returning with the list broke their staring contest. Handing it to Farrell, he glanced at Garret, who shook his head slightly. Farrell's eyes skimmed over the list, and, apparently not finding anything of interest, thanked the two and left, list in hand.

"What did you get out of her?"

"Nothing we didn't already know. They think it's a terrorist job."

"'Course they do," Nigel said blandly. "Where does this leave us?"

"Well if squares had negative polarities I could tell you," Garret said, and left, leaving Nigel to ponder his answer, bemused expression on his face.

---------------

They next day passed quicker for Jordan, compared to the previous one. They sat and they did not talk. They were both waiting, Ayres for something she couldn't pin, and herself for a slip on Ayres' part. Or a chance to worm more information from him.

"How long are we going to sit here for?" Jordan asked finally. He glanced at his watch, both for show and otherwise. It was getting late.

"As long as it takes," he said. She looked at him.

"What needs to be done?"

She was treading on thin ice. He studied her, as if weighing her up.

"They need to find you," he said. "So you see it isn't really up to me."

"Are you going to give them any hints?" she said stiffly.

He grinned. "Their little visit from yesterday was more than I was going to give them."

"But they didn't recognise you?"

"No," he said quite calmly, though a nerve next to his eye flickered and Jordan knew it was a sore point for him that none of them had remembered him. _They would by the end of this, _she thought grimly. And, she supposed, that was what he wanted. "But the tall one looked at me funny, so maybe it'll come to him." He grinned.

"So tell me," she said. "What happens once they get here? They're not stupid enough to not call for backup."

"And you think I have not planned for such an occurrence?" he asked, surprised. "It's all worked out, you need not worry your pretty little head about it."

"Well that's a load off my shoulder," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow.

"Glad I could help," he said, equally as mockingly, and continued to watch her. "So what's up with you and those two?"

"What do you mean?"

He paused. "Well," he began. "They did seem awfully worried about you."

"Isn't that what you wanted?" she asked bitterly.

"Oh yes," he said, delighted. "But of course, I did not expect success to this extent. The young one looked different to last time I saw him. Bitter."

"Woody, bitter?" she scoffed before she could help herself. He grinned.

"I knew it," he said.

"Knew what?"

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You saw him recently, no? Well, if he wasn't bitter then, and he is now, what do you think occurred?" He feigned being puzzled, then stuck a finger in the air as if an idea had just come to him."Oh, it could have been your death that did it. Or was it just that his coffee was cold this morning?"

She had no answer for him, so just sat and looked at him.

"So," she said after a while. "You're not going to give me a tour of your house?"


	10. If It Ain't Broke

**A/N: KittyDoggyLover, Jinubean, hot-te-molly(for some reason it won't let me put underscores...)and jtbwriter - many thanks for reviewing! daynaaa - shut UP! lmaoi just kidding. You just HAVE to rub it in. All us poor Aussies don't get the next season till Feb (maybe even later) next year! lolol. Have fun watching it. lol. I'm not at ALL bitter...**

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**Chapter 10: If It Ain't Broke, There's Something Wrong With It**

When Woody told Garret to go home, being the sensible man that he was, he went. Getting to his apartment, he closed his door, and thought back over what the two had just been discussing. They had been in the detective's office, going over every small detail, as they had been for a couple of hours before hand.

"You go too," the ME had told Woody when they wrapped it up for the night.

"I have a couple of things left to do here," he had said, avoiding the older man's gaze. "I'll go later."

Garret had paused, then nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He was pretty certain Woody would still be there in the morning, having not left in the first place, but there was nothing he could do. Really, nothing he wanted to do. He was weary and stressed. He wanted nothing more than to kick back and relax. Forcing himself to do so, he relieved himself of his shoes and poured himself a small glass of scotch, before reclining on his sofa. He allowed his mind to go blank as he sipped on the beverage, allowed the music he had playing to first waft over, then consume him. It was a technique he practiced regularly, to be able to blank ones mind was a valuable skill, and one he had down pretty well. He sat like that for ten or so minutes before emerging from the blank state, and allowing himself to think.

He still had not quite shed the weary pain that had settled in his gut the moment they had assumed she was dead. It was still there, albeit duller and less prominent. It was his fault, he mused calmly. It was all there, the one and the one, all he had had to do was put them together to make two, but he had failed. He had allowed the pain to take him over, had allowed the grief to claim him. As soon as he saw the damn name flashing on the screen he should have turned to the others, laughed heartily and told them there was no way, because he had spoken to her. It wasn't even remotely possible, yet he had been too worried about being in denial, causing him to be in denial about the completely wrong thing. And it had cost them all. He had seen something die in Woody's eyes when he was told, something that could never possibly come back. It was akin to a disease, he thought. Just because there may be a cure some time in the future, it didn't mean all the people who had died before would be brought back to life. Even though they both now knew that Jordan was indeed alive and possibly well, it could never bring back what had ceased to exist in the young detective. Indeed, in all of them. What he had witnessed on Friday, Lily and Woody seeking comfort in each other's arms would not lightly leave him, it would stay with him for a long time to remind him of his folly. His absolute, stupid mistake. He should have been able to protect them all, instead he had bestowed a pain on them, a pain he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. Whoever that was. Sometimes he believed it was himself.

He shook his head, but the guilt would not leave him. He needed to apologise, and, he confessed, needed to be absolved. He picked up his phone and dialled a well-known number.

"Lily," he said, when the phone picked up.

"Garret!" she said.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay," she said, worry plain in her voice. "Is everything okay? Have you found her?"

"No. We're going to continue the search tomorrow.

"Do you need my help?"

"No, its all fine, Lily, I was just checking up on you."

"I'm fine," she said.

He paused. "I want to apologise."

"What for?" she said in a tone that clearly conveyed her puzzlement.

"Friday. I should have known, I should not have let you all suffer."

"It wasn't your fault," she said almost automatically.

"It was," he said. "It was all there."

She paused. "If you're to blame, then so is Bug, Nigel, Woody, hell, even Sidney. They all knew you rang her, it was all there for them too."

He was silent.

"How's Woody holding up? You were with him last weren't you?"

"To be completely honest he took the whole thing a lot better than I expected. Still not good, though. Probably still in his office brooding."

"On what?" Lily asked.

"Who knows? He wants to be super cop."

Garret could feel Lily's frown over the other end.

"How about I go check on him?"

Garret grimaced. "Probably not a good idea." He glanced at the clock. A quarter to ten. "It's late."

Lily laughed. "Okay, Grandpa. Look it's no trouble."

Garret sighed. "I'd rest easier, Lily, thanks. I would go myself but he's more likely to listen to you. Try and talk some…sleep into him."

She laughed again, and they hung up.

Lily sighed. Her friend's voice was strained, and it was more than guilt. If she was perfectly honest with herself, it_ was_ his fault that they had gone through what they did. He _should _have remembered, _should_ have put two and two together. But having him wallow in guilt was not going to serve anyone, and right now, 'serving' was what they all needed.

She sighed, picked up her keys and drove to the precinct. When she arrived, she marvelled at it's ability to function on a 'skeleton' crew, the people lucky enough to catch the graveyard shift. When she arrived at her destination she lifted her hand and knocked on the door, not bothering to wait before entering. She was hoping to catch him asleep at his desk, therefore have more ammunition when it came to ordering home, but he was sitting up, perfectly lucid, on his desk, staring out into the night sky.

He turned slowly and identified his visitor. The look he was unable to mask told him it was not her he was expecting to see.

"Evening, Lily," he said, turning back to the window. "Can I help you?"

"I was hoping I could help you," she said softly, closing the door and walking towards him.

"I'm all finished for the night," he lied.

"You should go home. Get some sleep."

"I can't."

Lily frowned, staring at the back of his head.

"There's nothing more you can do."

"There should be," he said, finally turning in his seat to meet her eyes. "I should be able to protect her."

"You can no more protect her than a herd of wild animals," she said, not unkindly. "You know what she's like."

"Even so," he said, apathy in his voice. There was a silence.

"I must have missed something."

"What do you mean?" she asked, mildly exasperated. She was not in the mood for philosophical ramblings, not tonight. Especially from a guilt ridden mind such as the one facing her.

"Like we missed it the day before yesterday. The whole phone thing. Ridiculous," he muttered, shaking his head. "There was no way we could be dead, yet we were too damn stupid to figure it out. What are we?"

"Human?" Lily said, and Woody looked sharply at her.

"I can't think of anything else though," he said, ignoring the comment. "Though there must be something. There always is."

"Is there?" she asked. He shook his head in dismissal. "Typical man. If it's broken, you immediately want to fix it. You can't see that some things can't be fixed with glue or nails."

"Yeah, rather blue tack," he said, and narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Do you think it is a coincidence that in the neighbourhood Nigel reckoned her call came from…" he trailed off. It didn't matter. "Go home, Lily."

"Funny," she said. "I thought that's what I was here to tell you to do."

"Hilarious," he agreed sardonically, then looked at her. "Are you okay?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm fine."

"What with everything…"

"Everything what? Nothing is wrong, not really. You know how it is. How many times have we been in situations like this?"

"Far too many times," he said. She nodded.

"And yet here we both are."

"I've never really imagined my death, or anyone else's close to me. It just reminds you our time is limited."

"Compared to what?"

It was a strange question, and Woody looked at her.

"Compared to our perceptions. Even in this job, even with this life, constantly surrounded by death, and we still don't believe we are mortal."

"No one ever does," she said quietly, and they stared at each other.

"Fine. I'll go home." He stood.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, sure. Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

She frowned, and allowed him to steer her out of his office and down to the parking lot.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and watched as she drove away, before walking straight back into his office. He resumed his seat, but was now preoccupied, and unable to fall back into the blank state he had been dwelling in for the past three hours. He stood, an idea having come to him.

"Books," he muttered, frowning, and walked out of his office and down the corridor.

Miles away, the man called Jeremy Ayres laughed.

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**A/N: Okay as for the blue tack reference - I'm not sure if it's just Australian or if you people call it something different - tell me and I'll explain it. Okay - next chapter will be up soon.**


	11. To Kill Three Birds With Half a Stone

**A/N: Okay glad you know what blue tack is. Just good to make sure. lol. Okay well if you're ready for super psychotic people here it is! Ayres is a complete bastard I'm just about ready to do him in, I think. Suffer, Ayres! lol. Okay well thanks for reading and of course reviewing. And yes, daynaa, it DOES suck! But I think we will appreciate it more...having to wait. Either that or it will feel super-trippy - like the LV/CJ crossover that ONLY JUST aired over here. Great ep, by the way. Okay...read on.**

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**Chapter 11: To Kill Three Birds with Half a Stone**

In the morning, Garret awoke easily. He took it slowly, got out of bed, showered, and then dressed. He threw some bread in the toaster and turned the kettle on. He opened his door and picked up the paper waiting there, and sat down at the kitchen table with paper, toast and coffee, delighting in the cliché ritual. It was normal, it was right. Something that stood out from his otherwise ridiculously abnormal lifestyle.When he was satisfied that he had done all he could to relax as much as he could, the key to getting started in the morning, he picked up his case and keys and walked out of his apartment, planting himself in his car and driving slowly towards the precinct. He would pick up Woody, knowing he would probably have to wake the man, then they would go to the morgue and…that was where his plan stopped. He had no idea what they could do, there really were no other avenues they could pursue.

He did not have to wake the detective, and suspected when he caught sight of him, that he hadn't been asleep to begin with.

"You look well rested," the detective said, effectively cutting off any comment the ME may have had for him. He had just come from the bathroom where he had thrown another shirt on and splashed water on his face, trying to remove the signs of mild sleep deprivation, but failing.

"Ready to go?" Garret asked as Woody pushed the door open to his office. Garret frowned when he saw the pile of albums all over the floor, and realised that Woody had pulled probably five or so years of mug shots from the archives. There was a cup half full of coffee on the floor next to where the detective had probably sat all night, and Garret guessed that it had been filled and refilled many times in the duration of the night.

"No," the detective said. "I found something."

Garret frowned. "What?"

Woody studied him then beckoned him over to his desk. He pointed wordlessly at one of the pictures on a page.

"Jeremy Ayres," Garret read, and looked at Woody questioningly.

Woody handed over a manilla file and the ME rifled through it.

"Arrested in 2001 for the murder of his wife and child. Detective…" he paused and looked at Woody. "Hoyt, officer on the case."

Woody raised an eyebrow, as if to say. "Take a look at the death certificates."

Garret frowned and did as he was bidden.

"Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh, MD, on the girl, and…."

"You, on the wife."

A wave of something indefinable rippled through the ME. "So?" he asked, managing to look calm. _What was he angling at?_

"So?" Woody asked. "Doesn't he look familiar?"

Garret looked at him again, frowning. "Yes, but it's not surprising, 2001 wasn't really that long ago."

"No. Neither was yesterday."

--------------

"I was thinking," Ayres said, after he had established that she was not hungry. "Maybe I should let you ring them."

She did not answer, merely looked at him.

"Yeah," he continued. "Because they don't seem to be as intelligent as I first thought."

"You mean, they didn't recognise you. Which translates your previous sentence as 'their lives don't seem to revolve around me like I first thought'."

"Wonderful, you definitely should start a business," he said, refusing to become angry. "The Jordan Cavanaugh Smart Ass Society."

"Dude that's been going for years," she said, shrugging.

"Don't change the subject," he said. "Go on. Ring them."

"Bite me," she said, half-jokingly. She was stalling, as she had finally come to a concrete decision. This son of a bitch had hinted that he wasn't going to kill her, but rather that his real targets were the two who were searching for her, and she'd be damned if she'd help him kill them. There was no way she would ring them, no way she could bring herself to lead them to their deaths. It would be better if she died, for she would not be able to live with herself if she was responsible for their deaths.

"Sadly, not on today's agenda. Here." He held out the phone to her, and she took it reluctantly.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever you like. You can chat about the weather or rattle off the address. I'm over pizza."

"Makes two of us," she said, looking at the multiple empty boxes that littered the otherwise clean floor. She dialled a number.

"Hello?" she said, after what she thought was a decent interval had passed. "Yeah, I'm okay. Look, I'll tell you where I am…"

She was stopped in her tracks when Ayres plucked the phone out of her hands and put it to his ear. He looked at her.

"Nice try," he said, the vein flickering at his temple the only indication that he was unsettled, and threw the phone down on the floor. "I don't think you understand what I'm capable of. This is just a big joke to you, isn't it? Well I give you my murderers honour that I will kill them. No matter what. Even if you get out of this, I will follow you all."

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that before," she said, rolling her eyes. Her anger had been ignited and she would be damned if she'd tiptoe around him any longer. She was scared, she was worried, but she would goad him until he ended it or gave her the information she craved.

If looks could kill she would be dead already. He was staring at her with such loathing it was barely tolerable. She returned the look in kind, challenging him. He was too angry to continue to be elusive, so he told her everything.

"They'll be here," he said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "And you'll have your little reunion. I'll let you talk to each other, tell each other how much you mean to the other. Whatever tickles your sickening fancy. Then I will shoot them, the young one first, then the old one. They will be gone, their troubles over. But, they aren't my targets, not really. Merely the secondary ones." His eyes were glazed and she wasn't sure he was even aware she was still in the room with him. "Then I will press my gun into your back and sever your stupid spine. You can live your whole life, in purgatory, not really living, but living enough to feel the pain. You wont be able to kill yourself, there will be no escaping the nightmares, no escaping the pain, no escaping the overwhelming guilt of knowing it was your fault they died, your fault they suffered. Because they will suffer. Remember my wife's body? She will have been nothing, _nothing _compared to them!" He was shouting now, sitting forward in his seat and locking eyes with hers. She saw right through them, into his mind, into _him._ Her eyes were wet; she was only just containing the tears. The picture he had painted was so vivid, so real. He was not joking, so far from it, it was terrifying. He meant every single word. They would die, and it would have been all her fault. He was shaking as he held out the phone again.

"Now call them."


	12. The Lion, the Bastard and the Corridor

**A/N: daynaa – haha. Was it 'Under the Weather' that you were talking about? 'Cause I've heard opinions that it was possibly one of the best episodes. Dances I can't wait! Jinubean, eternalgorithm, KittyDoggyLover, JulieTheDreammaker, jtbwriter, GoddessofSnark and Orlando-crazy (aren't I good? All in order and everything…) thanks a bunch for the reviews! throws you all a chocolate. Yeeeey! Okay well I'm pretty sure I'm wrapping it up with this next chapter…lucky 13 where someone may die…lol. **

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**Chapter 12: The Lion, the Bastard and the Corridor**

"You haven't slept. You're a walking zombie, you can't exactly be thinking straight."

"You obviously never saw Buffy, then," Woody muttered, staring straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel.

"Can you at least call for backup?" Garret asked mildly.

"We might not even be right," he said.

"You think we are."

"I do."

"Then call."

Woody snarled and yanked the car off to the side of the road, causing both their heads to snap to the side.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth and wrenched his phone out of his pocket. Garret heard the muttered order for some uniforms to be sent to the address they had visited yesterday. Woody snapped his phone shut and pulled back on to the road.

"I can't believe it," he said. "We were there, she was probably calling out to us to help her, and we did nothing."

Garret decided against stating the obvious, that there wasn't any way they could know, and went for wit instead.

"Oh come on, you know her. She's too proud to call out for anyone's help."

That brought a slight smile to the detective's eyes as he ploughed on.

"So what exactly do you have planned? We storm in there, no warrant, on a hunch?"

"A hunch?" Woody exclaimed, taking his eyes off the road momentarily. "The lunatic isn't even supposed to be out! It fits, Garret. It can't all be a coincidence."

"It could well be, Woody," the ME said. Personally, he was pretty certain they were on the money but it wouldn't hurt to have the detective question his moves. "Can you count the sickos we've worked on?"

"If I use my toes," Woody said, and Garret laughed.

"Exactly my point. It's perfectly plausible that he's just another guy who has done his time and lives in that neighbourhood."

"Plausible, yeah. Just like the presence of aliens. And he hasn't done his time, like I have already said."

Garret raised an eyebrow but did not say anything, as they had pulled up at the same location they had the afternoon before.

"Do you remember which house it was?" he asked. Woody nodded, eyes locking onto it as he undid his seatbelt. Garret followed his gaze and they both jumped out of the car and walked across the street.

--------------

"Actually never mind," Ayres said, yanking the phone from her hand, grinning widely as he stared out of the window. "Looks like our play dates have arrived without any guidance. My they're efficient!"

Jordan's turned slowly, in a state of lethargy, and saw them, walking up the driveway, Garret muttering something to Woody who shook his head impatiently

"No," she said quietly. "Go away."

"Too late," Ayres said gleefully, and she was half-sure he was just about to clap his hands in delight, but he refrained, as much as his demeanour suggested he would not.

"I am going to lock this door," he said, quietly, calming down visibly. "I will be back. Don't worry."

The last comment was so strange and unexpected, she couldn't even think of anything to say to it, could only watch as he walked away towards the two who had just banged on the door.

-------------

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" the man asked as he poked his head around the door. Garret cleared his throat.

"Jeremy Ayres?"

Unexpectedly, the man smiled, though the word didn't really fit the action. It was more of a leer, Garret decided, like a lion looking his prey up and down.

"You see this?" the man asked, pulling something out of his pocket. Their eyes dropped and both narrowed their eyes at what looked like a switch in his hand.

"I press this button, and the woman you've been looking for is blown straight to hell."

Their eyes lifted again in unison to him, and he was momentarily unseated at the unmasked hate that was clearly directed at him, but inwardly laughed it off. Their hate would be turned to fear soon…very soon….his time was nigh and theirs was up.

"So I suggest you comply. It won't be hard. Just step inside."

Garret glanced at Woody, and their eyes met. The detective nodded slightly and they looked back to the man, and stepped past him into the house.

"So, Mr. Ayres. Nut-house not to your liking?" Woody goaded. Ayres turned to him.

"No, actually. The food was worse than hospital food," he said, genuinely. "Now follow me and I will show you to the place you'll wet your pants."

Garret frowned. "Sorry?"

Ayres turned again. "I forgive you. Follow me."

He walked off, down the hall, making sure they could see the switch in his hand. Woody's hand snaked to his hip and his fingers connected with the bit of metal that could save them, but Ayres snapped around, glint in his eye.

"I almost forgot," he said lightly, and held his hand out. Woody looked at him for a minute, before reluctantly pulling the gun from his holster and placing it in Ayres' hand. Woody suddenly felt naked, and vulnerable, as he always did without his gun. He caught the warning glance that Garret shot him, but did not know how to respond and so did not.

Ayres opened a door and pointed, and the two walked reluctantly in. The blinds were open, sunlight streaming into the room, but it was cut off as Ayres pulled the blinds down, shrugging as he looked at them.

"I think it's more of a psychopath killing spree ambiance, don't you?"

"Oh for sure," Garret said. "Though you might have wanted a red globe instead."

Ayres looked up, then clicked his fingers across his body. "Darn," he said. "I knew I forgot something."

"What is this about, Ayres?"

"I think I know how you work enough to know you had me checked out. At least as much as you could."

"Yeah," Woody interjected. He was nearly hopping with impatience, keen to cut to the chase and find Jordan. "You're a murderer. I suppose this is a big revenge thing, yada yada. We get it."

"Damn," Ayres said, put out. "You stole my speech, but you did it no justice." He sighed heavily. "Oh well. Your funeral." He cracked up, as if it was the funniest thing ever. "No pun intended, of course." He stopped and looked at them, weighing something up. "Okay, phase two. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." He chuckled again and walked out of the room.

"That backup should be arriving any time soon, right?"

Woody shuffled. "Uh, yeah."

Garret sent him a look. "You did call them, didn't you?"

"'Course I did," he said.

"So what's the catch?"

"They might be a while. They've been pretty swamped with the whole train wreck thing….notifications, leads and the like…"

Garret snorted. "Right."

-------------

Jordan's head snapped around as the door opened.

"Hello," he said. "They're here."

"I know," she said through gritted teeth. She did know, had pressed her ear against the door and heard the faintest suggestion of male voices, not that they were close enough for her to yell to them.

"We're going to pretend like this is a computer game," he said. "I'm giving you another life."

She stared at him blankly.

"Okay, you don't play computer games. Fine. Let me spell it out for you. I'm giving you all another chance."

"What?" she asked, not daring to believe him.

"I'm going to bring you with me now. We're going to talk to them. We'll see how it all pans out."

He laughed when he saw the feverish glint of hope in her eyes. "This is going to be so funny!" he said, delighted, and put a hand around the top of her arm, not roughly, and guided her out of the room she had been locked in for almost three days. They walked down a corridor and he opened another door.

"Remember the button, gentlemen," he said as they both bristled at the sight of him. He yanked her in after him, and watched as both their faces changed. Jordan had her head hung, she had done this, she had brought this down on all of them. Now they would all die, right here. Well, she mused, _they_ would. They all paused, on the edge of their tethers, before Woody stepped forward, pushing Ayres to one side and wrapping his arms around her. She stood, stiffly, not responding. He held on to her for dear life, choking back the words he wanted to say, in the face of the man who was standing to one side, highly amused. He pulled away and held her at arms length, trying to catch her eyes.

"Look at me," he whispered, and she lifted her eyes to meet him, against her better judgement. She did not cry, but the look in them was, for Woody, worse than tears ever could be. He brushed a stray hair from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, barely audible, now not able to take her eyes away from his. Garret stepped forward behind the detective, worry etched on his brow. Woody, not knowing what to say, stepped away and Garret took up his place, looking at his friend.

"Looking pretty good for a charred corpse," he said, and winked at her. He had taken charge, he would take the weight off her shoulders, he would be the adult, he would show them both that everything was going to be okay. Even though he himself was pretty damn certain, when he put Jordan's sobered demeanour, and Ayres' obviously mad one together, that none of them would make it out of there easily.

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**A/N: Keep reviewing, I'll be just as delighted as Ayres was, although I will NOT refrain from clapping excitedly. Lol.**


	13. Gray

**A/N: Hey guys - really sorry about the delay in chapter production, I've been sick, and had lots and lots of homework (school sucks sometimes. Actually, all the time. :P) and I've had to do other stuff. Anyway here's chapter 13, but sadly its not the end. I think I'm going to warp it up NEXT chapter. lol. The words just keep coming, don't blame me. :D. Okay well continue with your lovely reviews they're super funnerific.**

**GoddessofSnark - hahaha. Yaaay! Is there like a competition? lmao. Hehe - I'm a rival! Thanks for reviewing.**

**And indeed to all you other lovely people who are reviewing - so fun! Thaaaaaanks! Do continue! Any suggestions are totally welcome! (Had to throw the 'totally' in there...haha.)**

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**Chapter 13: Gray**

"You shouldn't have come," Jordan said, not looking at Garret, who frowned.

"Why not?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Because three coffins are far more expensive for our friends than one."

"Ah. I knew I should have given Nigel that raise when he asked for it."

Jordan smiled for his benefit, and they all heard Ayres growl. He stepped forward and slapped Garret's hand from Jordan's shoulder.

"Break it up," he said, and breathed deeply, swallowing and regaining his cool. "Now all I need to know is, who is sleeping with whom?"

Woody raised an eyebrow, but the other two did not react, instead their eyes locked. Ayres watched. "Because I can't tell. Normally I can. Why can't I tell here?" He looked around, waiting for an answer. When none came he grinned.

"Now now, you three, remember."

Woody and Garret's eyes flicked automatically down to the pocket Ayres had patted lightly, and Jordan remembered what he had said just before they had some into this room. _We'll see how it all pans out. _They were gambling with their lives, here.

Jordan lifted her head, and both Garret and Woody were heartened to see a hint of fire in them. He head tilted to one side slightly, a gesture they both recognised as the 'go to hell' stance she took, mostly with the two of them.

"What do you want to hear?" she asked. "What do you want us to say? Stop prancing around and do what you have to do. So will we."

She sounded sure of herself, so confident, and she knew it. That was the key here, this guy had some sort of superiority complex. She had spent some of the hours they had been cooped up in the small room trying to figure him out. He wanted things to go his way, but not just that, he wanted to _control _everything, to use them as dolls, make them cry, make them scream, laugh, whatever. Same as she used to do as a kid with her toys. So the trick was to do a Toy Story and come alive.

"Well?"

Now the tables had turned and they were waiting for an answer from him, which he didn't like. So he did what he always did when things weren't going his way. He laughed.

"Fool," he said. "Now sit."

She looked around and noticed there were four chairs, armchairs just like the ones in the room they had waited in.

"You got some kind of foot problem?" she asked. "You're obsessed with chairs! Go to hell."

"Maybe in a few years," he said. "I'll follow you down."

"You're going to do it anyway, why not now?" he voice was raised and she had forgotten there were two other people in the room. "I'm sick of the game, sick of waiting! Just finish it!"

Ayres looked at her, no hint of a laugh in his face. "But don't you remember what I told you? You're not…" he stopped and looked at the other two. "Well, you remember."

She glared at him, and threw herself into one of the couches.

"Okay you two," Ayres said wearily, sitting on one himself. They exchanged a glance and lowered themselves reluctantly into the remaining chairs, sending Jordan furtive glances which she completely ignored. A part of her was furious, wanting to kill the two of them for showing up, for being so good at their jobs. Now they would all die, or as good as. The knew that the fate Ayres offered her was far worse than death.

"This is the part that is going to be kind of improvised," Ayres said, looking at each of them in turn. "I was ironing out the kinks when macho-boy here nearly bashed my door down. Were you a little angry or…?" he trailed off, and giggled, for that was the only word for it in Garret's mind, at the look of loathing the detective was serving him with.

"So what's the deal here?" Garret asked slowly. "I'm guessing death, a little pain, maybe some more death…"

"Everybody wants to be a comedian," Ayres muttered. "But yes, spot on. Now here's what I've got." He spread his hands wide and leaned forward. "She begs for you, and maybe we can take the death out of that little equation of yours."

The three looked at him blankly and he feigned a sigh, and looked straight at Jordan.

"Tell me why you don't want them to die. If you persuade me, maybe I'll let them go. Provided they let _me _go, of course."

She continued to stare at him. There was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction, she was well aware that if he got his way they would die anyway. The other two were staring at her, waiting. They couldn't understand why she would remain silent.

"How about this," she said quietly. "How about you let them go, and keep me?"

"Gee what a great idea. Why didn't I think of that. Because you know I just had you for three days straight already, and frankly you got on my nerves after a while."

"Do what you like to me. I can pretend to be Melissa. You can have your revenge all over again."

"Jordan," Garret said warningly. He was worried Ayres would take her up on the offer.

"Don't fret my dear chief," he said. "Why have one when I can have three? Many times over? Why don't you tell them what I have planned?"

She opened her mouth to say something along the lines of 'screw you' but stopped abruptly. She needed to take charge, needed to digress from the 'rebellious teenager' act that she had been playing, needed to relinquish his control. She frowned, and smiled sweetly.

"Why not?" She turned to face her friends, glad that Ayres could not see her face.

"He plans to kill you."

"And?"

She turned back to him. She couldn't say it, wouldn't. "I don't exactly recall the details," she said.

He winked. "Sure you don't." He shrugged. "Oh well. No matter. I can tell them." He turned to them. "I'm going to make her suffer."

Jordan couldn't help herself. "How original?" she muttered, causing both Garret and Woody to send her sharp looks.

Ayres ignored her. "But I think we should talk first. You guys…" he nodded to the detective and the ME. "…still think she's dead. Well, obviously not _think, _as in intellectually think, but feel. The whole 'she's dead' thing is still in your psyche." He paused, and looked at Woody. "You," he said. "Hold up your hand."

Woody frowned and did so, and they all watched it tremble. It wasn't fear, because he was not afraid.

"See?" Ayres said quietly. "Shock. So I'm going to calm you down. We're going to talk. Like a…" he paused, searching for the right word. "Family." He plucked a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. "Anyone for pizza?"

Garret and Woody were totally out of their depth, but Jordan thought she was beginning to understand this man. It was the family reference that clinched it for her. He had killed his wife, and if he was telling the truth, his daughter had been murdered by her. Jordan didn't know if he was lying, but was leaning towards believing him. Why go to all these lengths if he had murdered her himself? Because he certainly showed no remorse about killing his wife. She looked up, and shook her head. _I have to override him, _she thought. _Be an overbearing wife._

"I think we should have Chinese," she said.

"Why?" he asked, taken aback. Garret opened his mouth but Jordan shook her head slightly and answered.

"We've had pizza for the last three nights now. Chinese is a change."

"I really think we should have pizza," _Dear_, was the unspoken word that hung between them, but Ayres did not consciously acknowledge it. He just _felt _it, felt this was his wife, sister, whatever.

"No, I want Chinese." She turned to the other two. "How about you?"

Garret frowned, trying to understand what she was doing, buyt couldn't quite grasp it. She obviously knew more than they did, so he decided to take her lead.

"Yeah Chinese sounds good, actually." He turned to Woody.

"I'm for that."

"Three to one," she said, looking back at him. He sighed then nodded.

"Alright."

He called them, and ordered the dinner. Jordan grinned inwardly, they could win this war yet.

"So, Jeremy," she said. "I think you should tell them why this is happening. Justify yourself to them."

"Why don't you?"

"Because I think you can tell them from your heart. You were there."

He narrowed his eyes, and nodded, turning to Garret. "You and your girlfriend here took the case of Melissa and Sally Ayres. My wife and daughter. You pinned me to my wife's murder. My prints were all over the murder weapon, there was blood all over me, yada yada. From your point of view, it was a pretty open and shut case. To me, it was injustice."

"But you killed her," Woody interjected.

"Yes," he said, turning his gray eyes onto the detective. "But I did not kill my Sally."

"Then who did?"

"She did," he said. "My wife did. That's why I murdered her."

"Why would your wife…"

"Mental illness," Jordan said stiffly. "Turns the best mothers into murderers, apparently."

Garret sent her an inquiring look but she was avoiding his gaze. Ayres also glanced sharply at her, but she ignored him.

"Anyway, I'm doing the whole psychopath revenge thing. It's actually better than it's cracked up to be! In all the books and television shows, they always get caught. Good wins over evil." He leaned forward, staring into Jordan's eyes. The other two could have been piles of bird crap for all the attention he was paying them. They simply weren't there. "You'll learn soon," he whispered. "That there is no good. There is no evil. There is just gray. Just a gray mass of neutrality. Just a big mush of nothing. No one ever wins a war. You will not win this one, and neither will I. Nothing will bring my Sally back, nothing can turn the clock back. Nothing can ever erase this experience from your memory, as much as you try to brush it off as 'all in a day's work'. No one wins, we all lose."

He sat back, and the spell was broken. His words were ringing in her ears, _he was right, he was so right, there was no point, there was nothing here, nothing to live for, we'd get out of this, but we'd die anyway, so what's the point? What's our reward for a lifetime of pain and agony?_

Then she saw the faces of her friends, loathing written on one half, worry for her on the other, and she remembered. Remembered why she had to get them all out of this. Remembered why she got up out of bed every morning, got dressed and drove to work. Remembered why she lived.

She turned back to Ayres, the fire that had been quenched for the past day rekindled, and she smiled. It was a cold smile, a smile that sent the shivers down his back and set the mind racing. She was back.


	14. Justice

**Wow - okay well thankee muchly for all the reviews on chapter 13 guys! Sadly, though, it doesn't finish in this chapter. Maybe next chapter. If Ayres doesn't decide to do anything else really dumb. Ah well. Maybe our psychos will learn one day, although I doubt it!**

**GoddessofSnark - yay! Don't think I've ever won a competition before! How many broken shoelaces do I get? Mm sanctimonious - lovely word. wants season five REALLY bad...**

**On that note - excuse all these 'old' fics - ie ones where they're still on speaking terms. They'll get season fiveish around February, IF our disgustingly behind channel seven decides they want to press a little button and make so many Aussie fans happy. sigh**

**Oh and sorry for the gigantic delay in this - but you know how it is...school calls...**

**Question though - on our profiles, how do you write a bio? Coz I've noticed some of you have them, but I can't for the life of me figure out how you do it. Rightio - on with the show!

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****Chapter 14: Justice**

The doorbell rang and four heads snapped up. Ayres stood.

"Remember this, boys," he said warningly, patting his pocket. And walking out, locking the door behind him. Jordan frowned, staring after him.

"Remember what?"

Garret and Woody exchanged a glance. "The explosive," Garret said. Jordan shook her head.

"What explosive?"

Woody looked at her. "He said he had one wired to you."

Jordan shook her head, frowning.

Garret stood impatiently. "He played us," he said in a low voice. "Son of a bitch."

Woody also stood. "You sure there is nothing?" he asked her. She nodded.

"Positive."

Woody looked wildly around, gaze resting on the door. "Reckon it's kickable?" he asked wryly. The other two could help but smile at the look on his face. He turned and slammed his foot into the door, but it was in vain. The stubborn thing didn't move.

"Damn," he cursed, and turned. "Okay get up," he said to Jordan. "When he comes in we'll…" he paused, searching for a word.

"Wing it," Garret offered, and Woody nodded, smiling wryly.

"That too."

Jordan nodded and stood up. They waited. Woody turned to her, talking in a low voice.

"What does he mean to do to you?" he asked. "He hinted that you know."

Jordan's face closed up. "It doesn't matter. It's moot. The son of a bitch wont even get the chance."

Woody's face creased in concern. "He said you'd feel guilty."

Jordan looked up at him, noting again how tall the man was, how much she wanted to hand over control to him, how much she wanted him to protect her. She wouldn't mind falling onto the couch and closing her eyes, screwing them tightly shut and waiting for him to brush it all away. But she couldn't, so she squared her shoulders, looked him in the eyes and nodded.

"Don't."

She frowned; she had expected questions instead got advice. She searched his face but it was turned towards the door, tension making his body go rigid. She too heard it, the footsteps sounding lazily down the softly carpeted corridor.

The door flew open unexpectedly. The two doctors jumped quickly out of the way but the oak door slammed into the detective, pushing him to the floor. Ayres was quite a sight, wild stare in his eyes, gun in one hand, Chinese in the other, silhouetted against the sun streaming in from the window out in the corridor. He did not stand there for long, instead kicked the door closed behind him, rushed to the detective and pressed the barrel of the gun to his head.

"Sit down," he drawled lazily at Jordan and Garret, as if bored with the entire thing.

"No!" Woody said, staring from one to the other. They looked at him questioningly.

"Bowl him over!" he said desperately.

Ayres laughed, then looked at Jordan. "Move and I'll blow his minimal amount of brains all over you."

"Like you said Jordan," Woody said, searing stare cutting through her, slicing her open. "On coffin is better than three."

Ayres stared, watching the gaze, crackling like static electricity between them. It was a battle of will, and they were both a match. His face changed and he laughed in delight.

"Oh this is precious!" he said. "Thank you detective. Medium for more suffering! Why did I not think of it myself? You're in the wrong line of work, Hoyt!" He looked straight at Jordan. "What'll it be, Jordan? His head or everyones?"

"Don't be stupid Jordan," Woody pleaded. Garret stepped closer to her, showing his support, also not wanting her to make a stupid decision, but knowing whatever decision she made would be founded.

"I can tell you the stakes if you want," Ayres offered helpfully. "You rush me, he dies. No question, no chance. As soon as you move I pull the trigger. But, you can escape. You rush me, then he dies and falls back on me. You have a second to get away. I might even let you get away."

She stared at him. "Or?" she asked in a strangled voice.

He smiled. "Or you sit down, calmly, and say 'no'. In which case he does not die _now. _But then you all do." He stopped. "Well, they do."

Woody stared at her, urging her to do the sensible thing, and save herself and Garret. Hew would gladly give his life, three times over, for that. But his heart sunk, and at the same time lifted, when he saw the look in her eyes and knew what she would choose.

"Either way, this one's a lost cause," Ayres prompted. Garret was sensibly staying out of it. She knew what she was doing.

"You know what I am going to say," she whispered. She was completely torn, her mind numb. _This was not supposed to happen!_

Ayres nodded. "I have a fair idea, yes."

Jordan sent one last wild glance at Woody before slowly sinking down into her seat, ignoring the muffled cry that escaped the detective's mouth, and whispered "No."

The word slammed into Woody and he met Garret's eyes, before looking away. He couldn't look at anyone, couldn't connect because right now he just felt like shooting himself in the head and ending the entire thing, at least for him. But of course he did not. Ayres kicked him away and walked over to Jordan.

"I am sorry," he said, bending over and putting his mouth close to her ear. "That was unnecessary."

She stared at him. There was no guile in his face. It was as if he was…well…normal.

"Yes," she agreed, shakily, not able to drag her eyes away from his.

"Sorry," he whispered again, and shrugged.

Garret watched carefully, everyone in turn. Woody had a look of loathing on his face as he picked himself up, and stupidly brushed the dust from his clothes, shaking slightly. He saw Ayres bend over and whisper something incoherent to Jordan, and saw her face go white in turn. Garret kept his face calm. He was collected, he was in the right. Ayres stood and lowered himself into the chair opposite Jordan, Woody following suit, the lethargy the detective was displaying reminding him of Jordan when they had first arrived. It stank of _brainwashing. _He frowned, sent Ayres a glance and sat down stiffly, feeling as though he had lost them both all over again, somehow.

Ayres tossed them all containers, and Jordan and Woody opened them wordlessly and began to shovel (for want of a better word on Garret's part) the food into their mouths. Garret watched in horror, unable to keep the distaste out of his mouth. He watched the two exchange a glance and his heart sank. They were under the bastard's sway. He felt eyes on him and met the intrigued ones of Ayres on him.

"Not hungry?" he asked. Garret swallowed his hate.

"What are you getting from this?"

"Sustenance, nutrition and all the other good stuff you get from food."

"This whole thing, this charade?"

Ayres considered the question. "Justice," he said immediately.

"How do you figure that?" Garret didn't really care, but felt the need to keep the son of a bitch talking. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the methodical movements his companions were making as they lifted the food from the box to their mouths, chewing and swallowing, lift, chew, swallow…

"I'm sure if you think on it you'll come up with some plausible answer," Ayres said, shrugging. "What I want to know, is why _you _want to know why I am doing this."

Garret met his gaze steadily. "Know thy enemy," he said after a well-timed pause.

A dark look flashed over Ayres' face like a thunder clap, and left as quickly as one.

"You will never know me," he whispered. "Never."

Jordan kept her head down, watching out of the corner of this eye this interchange, but was not focussing on it. Garret met her eye momentarily and she jerked her head to the side, indicating for him to keep the bastard talking. He blinked and turned back.

Jordan put her box to one side, finished for now. Jordan watched Woody, trying to get him to look at her, but he wouldn't. She knew the look on his face, she had encountered it a few times. It meant, normally, that he would be broody and silent, normally a signal for her to grab him by the arm and drag him to one nightclub or another and coax him out of his shell. But there were no nightclubs here, and no way for her to communicate with him, other than useless glances. But even that was denied them, but he was stubbornly staring at the bottom of the container he clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

"We can't bring your daughter back, Jeremy," she said suddenly, surprising herself and him.

Ayres swallowed hard and brought his head around to meet her gaze. She had discarded her container and her hands were folded neatly in her lap as he looked at him, sympathy clearly readable on her face. _Nice try, _he snarled into his head.

"I don't think you understand, _Jordan,_" he said, mocking the use of his first name. "She is dead. I can't even get revenge because I already did, that night when it hadn't sunk in. I barely even remember, yet I can't cast it from my mind."

Jordan paused, alarmed because she knew exactly what he meant.

"Will killing us help?" she asked, and Garret looked sharply at her.

Ayres narrowed his eyes. "I hope so," he said. Garret half-expected her to draw a target on herself and invite him to shoot her there and then.

She lowered her head again.

"Your daughter would not have wanted this," she tried again.

Ayres was becoming agitated. "She wouldn't have wanted to die either!" he shouted.

"Then what is your warped logic?" she asked, suddenly very angry. She was itching to jump forward and kill the man with her bare hands for what he was doing to them all. "You've got us all in here, waiting, on some stupid crusade that no one the hell understands except you!"

Garret sent her a funny look, not able to help himself, and she looked at him, surprised for one minute, then what she said registered in her mind, and she laughed.

"A psycho after my own heart," she said through her laughs.

Ayres, still stinging from the insult, jumped to his feet, enraged by the laughter. Jordan watched him scathingly. He was air, all hot air.

"It's over," he said, stepping forward and reaching for her. Like lightening, Woody, who was closest to her, shot out an arm and blocked the arm reaching for her, not even looking at him. Ayres forced a laugh from between his teeth and slammed his foot into the detectives chest, causing the chair to topple over backwards. Before she knew it, everyone was on their feet and she was pressed against Ayres, breathing in his smell, which wasn't unpleasant. She trembled against him, alarmed, numb, scared…

He grabbed her hair and turned her around. Woody had gotten to his feet. Jordan, for the second time in far to small a time frame felt the cold steel of a gun barrel against her head.

"No options this time," he said. "I guess your plane is coming sooner than we thought," he whispered into her hair, but this time everyone heard.


	15. It Must Mean Something

**A/N: Driving us crazy, killing us, driving us to genocide, all in a days work for our dear channel seven. And the W channel isn't exactly giving me any joy. Show season 4 already! I want to see Sanctuary!**

**Thankyou muchly everyone who reviewed chapter 14, it makes it all ten times worth it! I'd name you all but it's midnight and well... I'm really tired. But I know who you all are. And I know where you live. LMAO. **

**Okay okay, again, I did NOT end it here - but NEXT CHAPTER! Most definitley! lol. I don't think I can drag it out anymore! **

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**Chapter 15: It Must Mean Something**

She couldn't concentrate. She was supposed to be filling out the endless array of forms that had resulted from the train wreck, and seeing as the other morgues that the bodies had gone to didn't have a grief counsellor, the whole thing was up to her. It didn't help that she was worried sick for three of her closest friends. As if believing earlier that Jordan dead wasn't enough, she also had been pained to watch Woody, strong man that he was, left a…well a male version of Jordan when she was in one of her 'moods'. Garret had done well, she figured, from the outside looking in. He had been strong, hadn't let everything get in his way. She sighed heavily, she was helpless, there was nothing left that she could do.

"Want a hand, love?"

Lily looked up and smiled gratefully at Nigel, who had poked his head around the door. Glancing at the clock, she shook her head.

"It's late, you should get going."

"So should you," he said, shrugging, and came in, clicking the door shut behind him. "What have we got?"

"I'm filling out reports on the people I've talked to over this whole thing, so you can't really do anything."

He nodded and watched her. She looked back at the report she was half way through, then shook her head and placed her pen gently down on the table.

"Been on this one for about half an hour now," she said.

"Difficult?"

"No, no more than the others. I'm just worried about them. They should have been back now, with or without her."

"Woody and Garret."

She nodded. Nigel frowned.

"I'm sure Dr. M said he was only going to be a little while," he said. "Have you tried calling them?"

"Cells off. Message bank."

"I hate those bloody things," he said sympathetically. She smiled appreciatively.

"I just can't get the thought out of my mind that…" she trailed off.

"Maybe they just went back to the precinct. They wouldn't exactly be thinking about coming back here to let us know. It's been a really annoying few days."

"Oh yeah, it's been really bugging me," Lily said smiling. "Maybe we should go check it out."

Nigel shrugged. "Anything to avoid paperwork, huh?"

Lily grinned. "Definitely."

But their minds were not put to rest when they arrived, and the detective's office was devoid of life. Lily sighed. "What should we do?" she asked.

Nigel gave her a funny look. "We're really dependant on Dr. M and Jordan, aren't we?" he said, and she looked at him questioningly. "Such demanding personalities," he said. "We're so used to taking orders from them we can't think for ourselves."

"I wouldn't go that far," Lily said, and Nigel grinned.

"I know. Sounded pretty good, though."

She laughed.

"Hey what's all this?" Nigel asked, gesturing to all the mug books piled up in the far corner. He walked over to them.

"Woody's crusade," Lily said.

"That's got a nice ring to it," he said, and looked at the page. "Why's it open to this page?"

Lily looked down over his shoulder.

"I don't know," she said, scanning the faces.

"Hey wait a minute I know this guy," she said, pointing to one of the faces. Nigel looked at her.

"Who is it?"

She frowned. "Wife and daughter killed, from memory," she said. "I don't exactly remember the details, only that he was really shaky and…"

She was cut off when Nigel got up abruptly and walked across the room, picking up a file and rifling through it.

"What was the name on that picture, Lil?" he asked. She glanced down at it.

"Jeremy Ayres," she said. "Why?"

"Because Woody's pulled his file," he said. "You were right, wife and kid dead. He killed them."

"What?" Lily asked, walking over. Nigel lowered the file for her to read. She looked up at him. "Why has Woody got it?"

Nigel shrugged and flipped through the file, then opened his mouth.

"One guess," he said, shakily, and tapped on the bottom of the page. "Look at the three people who took care of it."

"Dr. Macy, Dr. Cavanaugh and Det. Hoyt," she read slowly, looking at him. "What does this mean?"

"Woody obviously thought it meant something," Nigel said.

Lily frowned. "I mean fair enough, they all worked on it, but I'll bet they've worked on tonnes of them. Why did this one mean something to him?"

Nigel shrugged. "I don't know, love," he said, shaking his head, and reaching for the phone.

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"Don't you dare!" Garret shouted in a low voice. "I swear you will regret it."

Ayres looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "That's all you have?" he asked. "All you can think of to persuade me?" He gritted his teeth and tightened his arms, causing Jordan to gasp for breath.

"I will rip you apart," he said. "Just as quick as you pull that damn trigger."

Woody was not looking at her, as much as she wanted to catch his eye. She spoke up.

"See?" she said. "What would you do? Look at me, damn you!"

He finally did, met her eyes, and she saw the raw terror in them, terror she knew was an echo of her own face when the tables had been turned only a little while before.

"You couldn't have done it anymore that I could have," she said. He frowned, and then nodded at her. She sighed in relief, now she would die with his forgiveness, approval, whatever.

"Jeremy Ayres!"

The four frowned and listened as a voice poured into their existences, reminding them that they weren't the only ones on the planet, as they had begun to believe.

"The building is surrounded!"

"You did call for backup," Garret said out of the corner of his mouth to Woody, who frowned.

"No," he said, still kicking himself for the fact that he had not, wondering how on earth they had been found.

Ayres sighed heavily. "Damn," he said lightly, and cocked his head to one side, waiting.

"Let the hostages go!" the voice yelled again, and Ayres smiled.

"Good," he said. "For a minute there I thought I'd have to send one of you two out there to tell them I had hostages! I wonder how they found out. Oh well. Suits me. We better get this over and done with."

"You're dead, Ayres," Woody said, sending him a cold look. Ayres surveyed him sadly and loosened his grip slightly on Jordan.

"I have been dead since the night my daughter died," he said. "Technicalities mean naught to me."

"Yeah, now you can donate your organs," Jordan said. Ayres laughed.

"I'm going to miss you, Cavanaugh," he said amiably. "I said before, in different circumstances…"

"Yeah I'm sure we would have been the best of buddies." She wriggled in his arms and turned to face him. He stared down at her, surprised. "I want you to look me in the eyes as I die," she said. He closed his eyes and squeezed her, in an embrace. She didn't fight him.

"Okay," he whispered.

"I'm warning you, scum," Garret sad, but Ayres ignored him. Jordan craned her neck around to look at her boss.

"So long," she said, grinning. He shook his head.

"Don't be so stupid!" he growled. "Let her go."

"Yeah, put the gun down, insert psychobabble here," Woody interjected bitterly, and Jordan looked at him, questioningly. "I'm tired of this! Why don't you just shoot your damned self and be done with it?"

Ayres laughed. "But that would completely defeat the purpose," he said, shaking his head.

"I'm serious," Woody continued, still in that low, dry voice that Jordan did not recognise. "You're a loser. We're going to get out of here, clean up your mess, go home and maybe watch a nice black and white movie on television. You're nothing to me, nothing to us."

Jordan felt him tense, and was torn between pride that Woody had figured the man out, and fear of what he would do next. She looked up and he glanced down at her.

"He's right," he whispered to her. The other two strained to hear what the man was saying but couldn't quite. "He is."

Jordan had the strangest urge to say 'no', but swallowed the word.

"Maybe," she whispered back, and pain flashed in Ayres' eyes. He inclined his head slowly. His whole demeanour had changed, he had gone from the sarcastic, confident killer to a small child, seeking forgiveness where there was none. Seeking something that she couldn't give him. He'd hurt them all too much.

Woody watched through hooded eyes. He exuded apathy, when really he was hanging on every breath, because any breath could be his last. Their last. He held out his hand to the man.

"Keys please?" he asked coldly. Ayres looked at him, bewildered, and pushed the gun harder against Jordan's head, although his heart did not seem to be in it.

"Woody…" she said. He sighed and dropped his hand.

"Let go," he said slowly, staring at Ayres, using his best intimidating glare, but Ayres was not paying any attention.

"What do you think?" he murmured to Jordan. Jordan nodded.

"Probably a good idea. They may overlook kidnapping."

Ayres snorted. "I don't care about them," he said, loud enough for them all to hear.

"Surrender your firearm," came the voice from outside, and a light flashed through the window, making them all flinch. They ignored it.

Jordan rested her head unthinkingly against the first solid thing she met – Ayres' chest. She was tired, she just wanted to lie down and sleep.

"Might want to hurry up and do whatever," she muttered. "I'm dead on my feet here, no pun intended."

Garret watched. Something had to be done, they could not just stand here and wait for something to happen. He took a step closer.

"Don't be a hero," Ayres drawled, trying to regain his previous attitude, but failing. Garret glared at him, before glancing at Woody. He could see that the detective was thinking, but could also tell that the thoughts were circling, not coming to any end.

"Come on," Garret said softly. "You don't want to do this. We won't press any charges, we can clear you for your daughters death, if you really didn't do it."

This incited a response, and Jordan looked up, watching.

"Why?" Ayres asked forcefully. "Why? She is dead, nothing is going to change that!"

"Then let us go," Woody spat.

Ayres let out a growl of frustration. "Damn you!" he shouted. "Damn you all to hell!" He took a breath.

"You wanted me to look at you?" he said to Jordan.

"No…" Garret said in a low voice, itching to step forward and yank her from the man's arms.

"Be careful what you wish for," he whispered vehemently, and pulled the trigger. A splitting noise rang out, shocking Garret and Woody to their cores. They couldn't see, there was smoke, movement, sound….

"Jordan?" Woody called out over the ringing. "Jordan?"


	16. As Was Fitting

**A/N: Wow. 114 reviews. Thankeeeeeeeeeeee kindly! It's been fun...but everything has to end. Except the neverending story. And that ladder in the Folk of the Faraway Tree. The ladder Connie runs up. But this isn't a ladder, therefore it must end. Enough of my warped logic!**

**Having a little dance here because I found the profile button! Wooh! lolol.**

**Okay well here we go with the final chapter. I'll finish this AN at the end. Oh and sorry that this chap was long in coming. hehe.**

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**Chapter 16: As Was Fitting**

There hadn't even been any time to talk him out of it.

It was the only thought she permitted into her head. She had been so sure of her death, had seen it written in his eyes. And now it was all over, and it was not her lying on the floor in a pool of blood. His grip on her had slacked, akin to his grip on life, and he had slithered lethargically to the floor, their eyes locked until the end. Never before had she _watched _someone die like that. Sure she had seen people die, but she had never looked at them in the eyes as they did so, had never been so close to it. She fell with him, tired, legs shaking like jelly. It was over, all over.

"Jordan?" a voice called out. "Jordan?"

She couldn't answer; her mouth was clenched tightly closed, throat constricting. This did not have to happen, this man did not have to die. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting it to go away. But it refused to. Still she mulled it over in her mind, still she agonised over it. Was it her fault? And what had he meant? _Be careful what you wish for. _What was that supposed to mean?

Her question was answered when his face swam before her eyes. She knew she wouldn't forget him this time. She lifted her hands and stared at them, they were covered in hot blood. She could taste it in her mouth; the smell of it was so strong.

She heard a thump, and heavy footsteps running towards them. She heard the door fly open, and was forced to open her eyes when a hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up. Garret held his hand out and she took it, pulling herself up off the floor.

"You okay?" he muttered, not able to take his eyes away from the man on the floor.

"Fine," she said stiffly. She watched as Woody went over and spoke to the officers who had burst in. She heard words like 'hostages' and 'gun shot', but did not really care what they were saying. Woody turned and glanced at her questioningly. She nodded slightly and he inclined his head and turned back.

"What did he say to you?" Garret asked at her shoulder.

"Don't remember," she said. She could not understand why she felt as though she had been punched in the gut, why she felt as though it was a friend who had been killed in front of her, rather than a psychopath who would as soon have killed her as looked at her. _Damn, _she thought, over and over in her mind. _Damn._ She felt like slamming her fist into the wall. How could he have this affect on her? She allowed herself to be pulled up and stood, watching through hooded eyes as people milled around, talking in low voices, getting things done.

"I guess we get to hold him hostage now, huh?" she said, voice steady. Garret glanced at her, his grip tightening around the crook of her arm.

"Let's get out of here," he said. She nodded and they walked out. She stared around her at the house that she had been cooped up in for three yet had never seen. Garret watched out of the corner of his eye as she stopped momentarily, leaned forward and picked something up. She tucked it in her pocket and sent him a half-guilty, half-defiant glance, and they walked out of the house together, each taking deep breaths, savouring the fact that the stuffiness of the little room had dissipated, and they were breathing proper, night air again.

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She'd never been one for funerals, and never would be. Not that she would have even been able to justify going, even in her mind. But she had kept her eye on Ayres, knew where he was to be buried. The same cemetery his wife and daughter were buried, as she supposed was fitting. She knew better than most that a body cared not where it was buried, whether it be in Potter's Field or in the best plot of land money could buy. It was all the same, the flesh would still decompose and the bones would still crumble, but still she latched onto the romanticised idea.

Dusk had fallen when she finally made up her mind to go there. All day, the day of the funeral, she had been reclusive, debating with herself whether or not to go. Not really out of respect, just for her own closure and peace of mind.

On the way she thought. It had come out that Ayres had been in contact with a terrorist cell in New York – and while he was not responsible for the train wreck, he certainly knew about it. Which is how he managed to switch the records around so quickly.

She still burned with anger when she thought about it. She had seen the raw look in Woody's eyes and the well-masked one in Garret's when the two of them had found her, and remembered the fervour with which Lily had clung to her once the three of them had returned. Ayres had hurt them all, and had he got his way, she would be a paraplegic mourning the loss of two dear friends, and being bowed down with the guilt of knowing it was her fault they were dead. But yet again they had come out of it, while not okay, certainly alive.

She could still see his face, as though it was burnt into the inside of her eyelids, as though she had just stared into the sun and could still see the effects. She knew it would fade with time, at least she hoped it would. But he had got what he wanted, even if it had cost him his life. He would always have someone who remembered him.

He obviously never heard that you will get more bees with honey, she thought wryly, pulling up.

The cold air blasted into her face as she climbed out of her car and looked around, but she didn't take as much notice as she might have, still being deep in thought as she walked. She loved this time of day. Not too dark so you could not appreciate everything around you, not too blindingly light so that everything hit you full in the face.

His mother had paid for his funeral. Jordan had watched while she spoke to Bug, who had volunteered for the autopsy, neither she nor Garret being able to bring themselves to do it. The mother had not wanted to hear what her son had done, but she didn't have much choice while she was being questioned by the FBI in regards to the security of their files.

'Did you know?' they had asked her, watching her shake her head slowly.

A murderer he may have been, but it didn't cause his mother to love him any less. Jordan sighed with the memory, if only his wife hadn't…

She stopped that train of thought abruptly. She had gone through the case file time and time again, and there was nothing to suggest that he had not killed his daughter. But she found herself believing him. The story was far-fetched, but what had he to gain by lying? He would have been thrown back in jail whether he had done it or not. She couldn't fathom it.

She tried to put herself in his place. If she had come home and her daughter had been killed by her partner, would she want revenge? Obviously – but would she have been able to bring herself to murder someone? She supposed she wouldn't know until, and if, she ever had children of her own, knowing that the protective instincts of a parent sometimes outweigh rational thought. But it was no excuse, she told herself firmly. If it had been her father, she knew she wouldn't be able to forgive him.

She stopped, having reached the fresh mound of dirt and the new unweathered headstone.

'Jeremy Ayres,' it read. '1958 – 2005. Much loved son.'

Somehow, the words seemed empty, cold. And it had nothing to do with the granite they were engraved on. In another world, it would have read 'Much loved father and husband,' but he had made sure he had no wife and no child left to love him.

He had brought it all down upon himself, she told herself fiercely. He has no one but himself to blame.

She started when she realised she was referring to him in present tense.

The wind picked up again and she rose from her reverie, shivering, having forgotten to bring her coat. She bent down next to the headstone, pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and stood. She turned slowly, not glancing at the paper, which read 'Daddy' in the scratchy, tentative handwriting of a small child, and walked back to her car, not caring to look back.

**A/N cont: Sorry to those who wanted me to kill her. But you know. I couldn't have without dragging this whole thing on. Anyway- thanks for reviewing people! Adios until next time!**


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